To Die But Once
by MornieGalad Baggins
Summary: The 18th Annual Hunger Games Submit Your Own Tribute. Head Gamemaker, Brutus Laertes looks forward to his 24 tributes to make shine in their own flashes of Hunger-Games gore as the 18th Annual Hunger Games commence.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome, Readers, to the 18th Annual Hunger Games. This is my first Submit Your Own Tribute Fic. I do not own the Hunger Games, it belongs to Suzanne Collins. Details for SYT at the end of the chapter. _

**To Die But Once: **The 18th Annual Hunger Games

Prologue

_"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,  
>But in ourselves, that we are underlings."<em>

**Brutus Laertes Head Gamemaker**

An eruption of time and light spanning across billions of years. In his mind, he was watching the birth of a star, the dawning of another possibility with so much potential. Brutus Laertes lay in his bed, not wanting the dream to end, wishing he could envision these sorts of things every night. Of late his dreams had been mostly work deadlines. The people watching the spectacle couldn't even dream of the administrative side of the Hunger Games. It was his responsibility to ensure that his creative team was all on board with his vision; this was, after all, his first year as Head Gamemaker, so he wanted to get it right. So his employees may have called him a micro-manager and a control freak. Just like when he had managed actors in the past, it would be worth it once the whole production exceeded expectations.

Brutus opened his eyes to discover it was still dark out. Wondering what had awoken him, he looked to the window, expecting to see the usual sight, the skyline with which he had grown up with his entire life, the buildings which sheltered him, enclosed them from the districts, made them special, even made them superior according to most. Long ago, when he had first stepped on the stage, he had seen something unique in these buildings. He had sung their praises, written them sonnets, and bowed low to thunderous applause from their multitudes for his performances, encores and encores, so many that he eventually stopped hearing the applause, until it was no longer enough. That's when he retired from the performance life, a legend in his own right, but nothing special in his own eyes. With enough money to live luxuriously for the rest of his life, in the secret of his heart he had longed for nothing more than to become a hermit in someplace where he could see beauty, to seek out whatever remote corner of the undiscovered world that might be.

Before his eyes, this night in the dark city, he was shocked to see that he no longer saw the buildings, the light, the un-sleeping escape that was the Capitol. In the skies above, a light exploded. It was not the light of fireworks to which he was so accustomed in the prelude to the games, but the light from beyond the atmosphere. It was dim, and perhaps it was only because of his surgically enhanced vision that he could see it, but there seemed to be a light streaming across the sky. It was faint, yes, but it seemed to be streaming from the sky down to the horizon and then disappeared. He counted one after another, twenty four.

Twenty-four, exactly how many lives he would make special and extraordinary in just a few days. At least that is what he told himself; it was crucial for him to believe that, whether it was true or not.

He'd been telling himself he was once again a part of something great ever since the day the Capitol representative had knocked on his door and made him an offer it was clear he was not at liberty to refuse: the chance to be a participant in the creation of the 10th annual Hunger Games. From there, he had caught someone's eye and continually ascended. In his heart of hearts he would have preferred to be a stylist, to lend his artistic eye to the tributes before all of the blood and gore. As a thespian he had always been strange, preferring the building first half of a play, particularly a tragedy, to the gory second half where everything got complicated. He loved the romance of stepping onto the stage, strutting your costume, saying your first lines, but then the limelight gets sticky towards the end and you never know who is safe and who is dead until the very last bow.

But this year that was different; this year everything was under his control.

**District 12: Aphrodite Aurelius Capitol Mentor**

She couldn't sleep. Everything was spiraling out of control already and Aphrodite couldn't tell if that was only in her head or if it was true. The reaping was tomorrow. Tomorrow she would meet her two of twenty-four, the two that she had never wanted. In frustration she heaved the unhelpful heavy tome of military strategy that she'd been reading across her temporary residence. She heard a very satisfying thump as it no doubt smashed a hole in the fragile walls. A second later she heard a lamp shatter. She'd have someone take care of it in the morning. For now she cared about nothing except the futile hope of one last night of sleep before the nightmare.

She'd wanted to stay in the uninhabited Victor's Village in District Twelve just to prove that she was one of the people. It was a lie. She was here at her father's insistence. "You can push one of the outer districts. You have the power to make this interesting and by God I will have you there." It was his punishment for her existence. He wouldn't acknowledge her publicly, but would punish her privately, the curse of being the daughter of the legend.

She couldn't breathe in here, she needed to escape. She glanced at the clock again. 3 am. How could five hours have passed without a single moment of relaxation? It wasn't as though she herself were going into the Games. Perhaps that would have been better, she thought for a fleeting moment. Anything to free her from this trap.

Well, she'd had enough of it. If she couldn't escape into the dreams of sleep, she would at least escape the eyes of the Capitol for a few hours. It wouldn't have surprised her if they'd had a camera hidden in her quarters, especially given her unusual request to stay in the Victor's Village the night before the Reaping instead of going on the train the next morning. Brutus Leartes had expressly voiced his opposition, of course, saying the district might find some way to harm her, but Aphrodite didn't care. At this point anything out of the ordinary, anything to make her feel would be welcome. Anything of course except watching 24 tributes die. . .

23 she reminded herself. And it would be one of hers that came out. One and done. With that resolution, she stood, as if preparing herself for the reaping already. She opened the window and flung herself onto the balcony . . . too normal. She grabbed a vine and managed to scale herself to the roof. As she looked up her eyes were met with a stunning site: the stars. She'd never seen them before with the Capitol light pollution had long ago created a shield to seeing them. They weren't as bright as she'd imagined them, but the light pollution had probably affected this sky too.

Something else caught her eye: something streaming across the sky. It was a light purple sort of firework, but streaming downward towards the Earth. Another followed and another. She counted 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23 . . . that was all, surely it was an omen. Being raised in the theatre, of course Aphrodite was superstitious. So this was an omen for the Games? Then one last one, a twenty-fourth, followed the others. Aphrodite pondered what that could possibly mean.

**Brutus:**

Brutus closed his eyes again, contentedly. In a couple of hours, the drama would begin. He could almost see it as he closed his eyes, a glorious new era of potential and beginnings. New tributes to learn, new stories to write all leading to one victor whose name would be written in the stars. For now it was time for him to rest and see what tomorrow brought.

After all, Rome was not built in a day.

**_Your turn: Submit Your Own Tribute:_**

Tribute form is up on my profile page. I will be entertaining open submissions until the 15th of September, so you have two weeks. Each author may submit up to 3 Tributes. PM me if you have any special requests or any questions. I look forward to any and all tributes. Thank you in advance for your submissions. Be clever and may the odds be ever in your favor. *Morniegalad


	2. Two Lions Littered in One Day District 1

_Hello, all. Below is Chapter One. I would like to thank __**Rareid123 **__and __**LokiThisIsMadness **__for Saphyra and Killian respectively. I will be taking a page from my sister's book and doing a chapter for each of the districts for the Reapings. Creators: help me out and keep an eye out for allies and/or a nemesis for your tributes. Comments are welcome. Remember this is my first SYOT and I'm a people pleaser, so be nice. Constructive criticism is welcomed. _

_Mentor – Khalani Averic (victor of 17__th__ Hunger Games) - _

_Mentor – Blake Mahner (victor of the 10th Annual Hunger Games) _

_Escort – Vea Gold _

**POV Khalani Averic – District One Mentor **

As she looked out on the crowd before her, Khalani realized that she'd never grasped just how many people were in her district. The faces stretched out before her, so eager, so ready, at least the older ones. The younger ones grew more and more frightened as they decreased in age. One of the youngest ones, a twelve year old boy, caught her eye, literally shaking in his boots. Perhaps the younger ones were the wisest, she reflected.

And then there was Blake beside her. He was five years older than she and seemingly five years dumber. He had no eyes for the tributes, but had his eyes fixed on Vea Gold's outfit, or in Khalani's opinion, lack thereof. There had been rumors that Blake and Vea had been having an affair without the Capitol's knowledge and there'd certainly been clues both before the games last year and during Khalani's victory tour. The last couple of hours, though, Vea had been extremely fussy and Blake had been anything but accommodating. It was nothing short of a miracle he'd arrived at the Reaping on time, mostly due to Khalani banging on his door, breaking in the window when that didn't work, and dousing him in ice cold water as a last resort. Khalani hoped they would both be focused enough to give their tributes the best chance they could. Khalani was hoping for a back to back victory and was certain she could achieve it. After all, so many of the trained, clean cut 18 year olds who had been only a year behind her in school looked eager to volunteer. Part of her was hoping that Liv, one of the most skilled fighters she knew would be this year's victor, but then another thought hit her. She remembered the terror of being inside the games, the adrenaline rush of not knowing if you would breathe another breath, see another dawn or if the tribute standing beside you would kill you or you would kill him. Would she really wish that on Liv? Though it wasn't as if it were actually her decision. Everything now lay to destiny.

"Ladies first. Let us see who will follow in the steps of our own Khalani Averic," Vea's voice sounded out, crisp and confident. Her hand circled, far too many times for Khalani's impatient mind and she drew out a paper. Khalani couldn't help but feel her pulse race. After sitting through six Reapings as a potential tribute and wondering if she would have a choice in her fate or not, the response was automatic.

"Zoe Blanche" she called out a name, but she had barely uttered the words when "I volunteer!" was shouted from the 17 year old section. Khalani strained to see if she recognized the speaker, but she didn't need to try for long because the brute shoved through the ranks, not bothering to come to the aisle that had been cleared dividing the boys from the girls. Instantly Khalani was certain she'd never crossed paths with this girl in her life. Her pierced eyebrow, nose and ears, combined with the paradox of her white dress and leather jacket signaled that she mingled with a crowd that Khalani wouldn't have touched with a five foot pole. Trying not to show her internal cringing, Khalani donned the smile that had charmed the Capitol last year. We can work with this, she thought. Maybe she'll connect incredibly well with Blake. But at a glance, Blake was in outer-space. Even Vea seemed to be taken aback a bit by the girl, understandably so. Khalani could smell the drugs on her from where she stood. Honestly, who came to the Reapings high?

"What's your name, dear?" Vea asked, seemingly recovered from her initial awkwardness.

"Saphyra Cullen and I'm District One's back to back victor," she announced. A huge cheer erupted from a group of hooligans that Khalani recognized as one of District One's most obnoxious troublemakers. A boy in the eighteen-year old section was groaning and shaking his head. Khalani tried to remember him. He looked familiar . . .

"Marc Cullen" that was the name! He'd been in training with her for a little while, but had to quit when his parents . . . "Marc Cullen for the boys." Khalani barely realized that Vea had called a name but the same boy, dark-haired and worrisome was suddenly screaming in utter frustration. No, maybe not screaming. He may have been hysterically laughing, but it was difficult to tell. Whatever he was doing, it was loud.

"Dang, bro!" Saphyra hollered from stage. "I'm gonna whoop you!"

"I volunteer! For crying out loud, I volunteer. Did no one hear me the first time?" A boy from the 17-year old section stepped forward through the crowd. He slapped Marc on the shoulder and shoved him back into the section. "Buck up, man. That was embarrassing." He jaunted up to the stage with a spring in his step, taking the microphone from Vea. "I'm Killian Odell," he announced, as though it was a given that he dittoed his district's partner's conviction and didn't need to state that _he _would be District One's back to back winner.

"Well, District One, let's have an applause for both of our victors, I mean, tributes." Khalani wanted to hide as the applause of the district washed over the stage. Both of them were so confident it took her aback and Vea's blunder didn't help matters. There were so many people talking, congratulating, cheering, but the only thing she could hear was "pride goes before the fall." She'd been confident, yes, but she'd also been studious and there was a part of her that knew the odds. Her choice to volunteer had been meticulously calculated, she had evaluated her own strengths and carefully planned her arena strategy. Even then, in the midst of it all, she had regretted it. As all of her allies died and she had to suffer through the dying screams of one of her closest friends, screams that still haunted her mind, she had regretted her decision. Now, seeing two volunteers so zealous to bloody their hands and so arrogant as not to realize what that meant, made her want to graphically illustrate the weight of their decision to both of them. Even as she watched them disappear into the barracks where they would farewell their friends and family, she couldn't help but wonder what second act she had gotten herself into.

**District One Female – Saphyra Cullen **

"You're a coward," Saphyra accused, the frustration that she'd felt with Marc for the last several years boiling up in what she meant to be her parting words to him. Part of her hadn't even wanted her brother to come, but he must have cut her friends in the line to see her.

"This isn't about me. You volunteered? Were you drugged? What is in your crazy mind that you think you could possibly do this. Why? Saphyra tell me why?"

"Definitely not for this lecture. This isn't what I was looking forward to when I said goodbye to my friends and family."

"Damn it, Saphy, I've tried so hard to save you for so long and you do this?"

"I don't need saving, Marc. If you're going to lecture me, you can get out of here."

"Saphyra this may be the last time I see you. . ."

"I'm coming back."

"Saphyra," Marc took a breath, knowing he could incur her wrath at any moment. "You're my little sister. And I love you. And if you don't come back – "

"I said I'm coming back! GET OUT!" She could barely see what she was doing she was so mad as she grabbed the ring off her finger and hurled it at Marc. She didn't know if he'd caught it or not as he scrambled out the door.

Just outside the door, Marc ran headlong into his aunt. "I'm not going in," he declared. "I love her, but I just can't." There were tears in her eyes, the tears of guilt that she hadn't done a better job of raising Saphyra after the two children were orphaned so many years ago, fear that Saphyra wouldn't come back, tears of regret that nothing she could do would change anything that had passed between them. These tears weren't in preparation for a victor, they were for a failure that Marc was almost certain was coming. His sister was destructive, reckless, impulsive. Even now she was probably on drugs. Marc put his arms around his aunt and sighed, fingering his mother's ring between his index finger and his thumb.

"Yo, Marc, glad you got bailed out. It would have been a shame for your sister to have to slaughter you," a voice came from behind him. Any other day, Marc would have groaned and pulled some snappy retort about Zac getting his life together, but not today. Today, he put on a brave face, just for a moment, and shoved the ring into Zac's hand.

"Give this to her. She threw it at me and she's going to want it later. Go quickly. I don't know how much time you have." For once, Zac and the gang didn't give him any retorts. They wanted all the time they had to say goodbye to Saphyra. Marc sighed as his sister's real family took the over and ejected him from her life, probably permanently.

"Nice show Sassy!" her best friend congratulated her and there were high fives all around.

"Your brother . . ." Fitch started.

"Don't even start about him," Saphyra warned.

"He said you'd want this," Zak said, handing Saphyra the ring. "Take it."

"I probably should," Saphyra whispered softly and there was a moment of silence as she put it back on her finger. "I can't believe I almost lost it."

"Hey, it's back now and it'll be your good luck charm in the games," Zak said. "It'll bring you back to us."

"Did you stuff morphling in the jacket pocket?" Jessi demanded anxiously.

"Please, of course I did," Saphyra said. "You guys didn't think I'd actually do it, did you? Volunteer? I had you all going."

"Drana thought you were too chicken," Alyx said, ratting out his friend who then punched him in the shoulder.

"Proved you wrong didn't I?" Saphyra challenged, slugging Drana harder in the shoulder.

"Yeah, get your practice in before the arena," Drana said, visibly wincing in pain.

"The girl packs a punch. And all of Panem's gonna feel it." Zak said proudly.

"Time's up. You hooligans get out of here," the Peacekeeper reported. The four boys headed towards the door, but Zak held back a second. He grabbed Saphyra's wrist right on her tattoo and they did their secret handshake. "See ya later," he said and sauntered back out the door. Saphyra sighed. This would be a piece of cake.

**District One Male: Killian Odell **

"The chosen one is off to his arena. To seek his stars. I almost thought you weren't going to. It wasn't just because he was crying was it? Oh that poor family," his mother's brown eyes were already welling up with tears, honestly Killian wanted to just say goodbye to her right now and have the theatrical piece end.

"No, ma. I was going to volunteer anyway. It's just no one could hear me over his horrible racket. I'm going to make you proud, I swear. I'm coming home in a little while."

"Oh Spencer. I can hardly believe it. Our boy's going to finally be a victor. He's going to be a star and make us so very proud." Killian was almost certain his mother was going to hyperventilate. His father put a supportive hand on her shoulder as his hazel eyes met Killian's.

'We're proud of you, son. You will bring glory to this district and to this family." He smiled, his silence and blunt honestly contrasting Killian's constantly loud demeanor.

"Cy, you only have to miss me for a little while," Killian said, ruffling his younger brother, Cian's hair. The boy was silent, as usual. "Keep up your training, okay, and we'll have two victors in this family in a couple of years. Just watch me. Watch how I do it. Huh-huh." Killian showed off a couple of sword fighting moves, more difficult ones that he knew like the back of his hand. There was a knock at the door. Killian knew it couldn't be the peacekeepers yet; he could only hold on to hope that a certain someone would be behind that door.

"Allright, Cian, say goodbye." Killian hugged his mother, Cian and then his father last of all. Their relationship had never been particularly close, but they understood each other, understood without saying it that there was a slim chance that this would be their final goodbye. Killian quickly brushed that thought aside since his father hadn't even said it. As his family left, Killian's heart skipped a beat to see who was entering the room.

"Hey handsome," Blaer whirled in the room, her long blonde hair flowing behind her. For a moment, he was distracted in her blue, unblinking eyes and neither of them said a word. She kissed him, which Killian should have realized she was going to do, since they'd gone from friends who hook up every once in a while to girlfriend and boyfriend just a couple of days before. Still, the kissing took some getting used to.

"That was a surprise," he commented when she freed his lips. "I guess I'll have a lot more of that to look forward to when I come back. But seriously, did you find her." Blaer's blue eyes held a confused look for one second. "Blaer."

"Sorry, I must have dazed off. I found her, but he still wouldn't let me bring her. I really tried to charm him. Killi, do you really think that's going to change when you come back."

"I hate being called Killi and you flipping know it. Call me Kill." Blaer sighed at his pickiness. Ordinarily it was something she'd fight him on, and they'd have a spat about it and then things would go from there, but today wasn't ordinary. "Things will change after I get back. They have to. I can't explain it, but I need Sienna in my life. Life changes when you're a father."

"Does your family know?"

"Of course they do. You know what a blabbermouth I am." But they didn't. No one in his family except Cian knew that he had a daughter who he had never been allowed to meet. "Now is totally where I'm supposed to say something profound that will get you through the agony of missing me while I'm gone, but, sorry, babe, I got nothing." Blaer was about to walk out on him, knowing he was absolutely rubbish at goodbyes. "Hey, do me a favor. See if you can butter up the old man, ya know, Darya's father, so he lets me have my girl when I get back."

"Sure thing, Kill." She said it so seriously, as if for an instant she doubted he was coming back. "Just promise me you'll come back. That girl, Saphyra, she's pretty cutthroat. Promise me you won't trust her."

"Getting jealous already? I'm not even out of the district yet." Blaer's eyes held him in a gaze that could kill. "Please, baby, I don't trust anyone. I'm only out for me and you know it." She was annoyed, so he wiggled himself out of trouble with his lips and didn't let go until the Peacekeepers knocked on the door. Blaer's eyes were shimmering when she broke away and slammed the door.

Once he was alone with his thoughts, Killian paused for a second. He usually wrote in his journal when he was alone, but there wasn't pen or paper readily available, so, like an actor alone on the stage, his soliloquys began. "I was so awesome today. I volunteered for the Hunger Games."


	3. A Voluntary Wound

_Welcome to District Two: Thank you to __**LokiThisIsMadness**__ and __**SomeDays **__for Dane and Nero respectively. For those of you aptly following the tribute list, yes, there was a switcheroo because I made a mistake assigning the ladies of Districts 2 and 4, but all is righted now. And, in case you've forgotten, I still don't own the Hunger Games. I'm out of town this weekend, but am hoping to have a blog up for the tributes by next weekend. (the first weekend of October)_

_Cheers_

_*MGB_

**A Voluntary Wound**

District Two:

Mentor: Glade Harborn – male Victor of the 3rd Annual Hunger Games (age 15 when won (reaped) 30 now

Mentor: Echo Banner – female Victor of the 8th Annual Hunger Games (18 when volunteered. Currently 28.)

Escort: Hiero Hisham

**POV Glade Harbrook **

Glade would almost have rather returned to the games himself. He couldn't bring himself to look at the masses before him, so he stared right through them. After fifteen years the faces looked the same, the names sounded the same. Maybe that was the point, the torment of mentoring. The Capitol was never really done torturing the Victors of the games. For the past ten years, Glade had been thinking that perhaps those who died in the games truly had the fortune. Yes, they suffered. Not everyone in the arena had a quick death, he knew that better than most, having sat beside his district partner as he knew she was dying of a poison, but she was too proud to admit it. Her agony had lasted for days and he had done nothing to stop it. Yet, as the oldest person on the stage, feeling eons older than his physical body was, he couldn't help but envy her. At peace at eighteen. Despite the horrific mask that the games had forced upon her, when she had breathed her last breath he had been at her side; he had witnessed her face turn peaceful and all the troubles of this world simply vanish. Into heaven? He wasn't sure if he believed that, but it was certainly better than this hell. This hell of living in blood day in, day out, of having deaths on your conscience and having to hide it. That was the worst part of it all. The permanent mask that he had to wear.

As the Capitol anthem played, he secured a hand on Echo's shoulder. He had to protect her. She'd been the only person he'd been able to bring back from the games in his fifteen years as a mentor. She was his Victor, his success and she kept shrugging him off. Couldn't she see that she meant the world to him? Echo firmly stepped away from his touch and glared angrily at him.

The anthem over, the worst part began. He would see the face of his next wound.

"The time has come to select our rising representatives for the ravishing second district." Hiero Hisham announced. Glade cringed; the escort was far too enthusiastic for him. A black ghoul would have been more appropriate instead of this neon orange bathed buffoon who insisted that his hairstyle must exceed his head's proper size. His unusually small hands circled the bowl only once; he didn't have the patience to make it dramatic, no matter how much Brutus had pleaded with him. "For our ladies, Dane Vautier!" Hiero announced in his sing-song.

"No!" Came a shout, but it wasn't Dane's voice. It certainly wasn't the voice of anyone who could take her place, either, for Glade knew that voice wouldn't come. He recognized it as her husband, Kellian's. The Peacekeepers were coming for him, far off in the audience with the rest of the adults, in case he made a fuss. He was shouting, but the eighteen year old walking towards the stage was anything but frightened. If she was as terrified as her husband seemed to be, her façade did its job of disguising any emotion. She confidently took the stage and stood in front of Echo. Echo made no move of trying to comfort the girl and Glade knew better than to try. She stood as still as stone, just as tall as he was, determined and unyielding beside the two mentors, as if she almost belonged there.

"For the boys. Let us have a warm welcome to the stage for Rufinus Glazer." Hiero had already picked the name as Dane approached the stage. He truly was impatient. A boy from the fifteen year old section, who could almost have been the spitting image of Glade half a lifetime ago, but before he could go very far a voice called "I volunteer" from the eighteen year old section. A handsome brown haired boy emerged, waving confidently through the male's section and the fifteen year old disappeared back with his peers. The boy smiled widely on his way to the stage, his entire appearance exuberating confidence. His black jacket unbuttoned slightly to see his crisp white shirt and his dress pants. He was prepared. That in itself always baffled Glade. How could someone prepare for this? He would never truly understand anyone who came in and knew they were volunteering. In his mind, it was a roadmap for either suicide or a mass murderer.

"Now, what is your name, son."

"I'm Nero Taplin. It's an honor to be here."

"Nero, it's a pleasure to have you. Dane, Nero, shake hands." Nero offered his hand to shake, but Dane seemed to be staring him down first. Glade wondered if she thought the same thing that he had about Nero, that he was the next candidate for the insane asylum. For a moment, it seemed like Dane would punch him out instead of shaking his hand, but then the tension faded and the two tributes disappeared into their respective retreats. Glade reached for Echo's hand but she immediately withdrew wordlessly, presumably to prepare for this most deadly of duties. After fifteen years, Glade was as ready as he could ever be.

**Tribute Dane Vautier:**

"I'll kill them all to get back to you. Don't think I won't," Dane promised. Kelian hadn't released her since they'd allowed him in the room. For an eternity they just sat there, wordless in each other's embrace, hoping that some miracle would stop time and right this wrong. Surely fate couldn't be this cruel. After her parents' death at a young age, years of mockery at the orphanage, certainly some reward was meant for her. Undoubtedly, after enduring so many years of her adopted mother's hatred, her adopted sister Aoife's resentment, there had to be some sort of compensation. She'd been married to Kel for two years and they had been the happiest of her life. Was that some sort of crime?

A knock at the door came and Dane knew their time was nearly spent. It was imperative that she be strong for him now. He had to believe as fervently as she did that she would return.

"I've trained. You know I can do this," she reassured Kelian.

"I know," he replied simply, pressing his lips to hers in an embrace that the Peacekeepers had to break.

As soon as he disappeared, the only other person Dane wanted to see rushed into the room, her adopted younger sister Kendra. The girl's curly red hair bounced as the sixteen-year old dashed to Dane.

"I'm so sorry!" Kendra exclaimed, the tears choking up her throat as she threw her arms around Dane.

"It's okay, Kendra. I'll be back before you know it," the more she said it the more doubt began to haunt at the back of her mind, little by little and Dane closed her eyes as she regained control. She could analyze the situation and now she needed to be in control. There would be time to panic later if she needed to. As easily as that, the rock solid feeling of her façade returned to her and she was impenetrable once more.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, one that could only belong to Koran, her foster father. That was the closest she would ever get to a hug from him; Koran was far from the touchy feely type, something he and Dane usually had in common. Not today, though. Today she held onto Kendra as though her very life depended on it.

"Be smart in there," Koran said. "You're a tough girl. You always have been."

"You're coming back," Kendra whispered, her voice quivering and Dane knew her sister was trying to convince herself.

"You know you don't deserve this," a voice came from the doorway and Dane braced for whatever atrocities were to come. It would figure that her oldest sister wouldn't have any pleasant parting words for her.

"Aiofe where is your mother?" Koran asked.

"Not coming. You really think she would say goodbye to the maid?" Aiofe snooted.

"If you wanted to go so badly, why didn't you volunteer for her?" Kendra demanded.

"First of all, check your age limits and secondly," Aiofe's voice began going into the high pitched whine it always did before a major temper tantrum. It was hard to believe that girl was nineteen and was looked upon as having her life together.

"This is where we make our exit," Koran said, grabbing his oldest daughter firmly, but allowing Kendra to remain behind. "Good luck, Dane." He was gone.

With only her and Kendra remaining things became simpler.

"Look after Kelian while I'm away. Make sure none of the girls go near him, or even think about going near him. I know he's charming, but he is mine," Dane said emphatically.

"He wouldn't dare," Kendra affirmed and Dane smirked. She would take that as a compliment.

"You'll have to look out for yourselves for a while, you and Kelian. Make yourselves your own little family. I won't be here to look out for you or prank our evil sister." Kendra rested her forehead against Dane's and another firm knock on the door told them that time was up. The sisters squeezed each other tight and Kendra turned away, but not before fastening her necklace around Dane's neck. Dane smiled. She really wouldn't be alone.

**Tribute: Nero Taplin**

"What did you do, Nero?" Nero almost wished he were alone right now for all the grief his mother was giving him. She hadn't hugged him goodbye, yet, so the lecture was obviously not over yet.

"I thought you would be happy," Nero said, truly baffled by the looks his sisters and his parents were giving him.

"I just want to know why," his mother demanded. His father tried to step in before the commanded the floor the way her fiery personality tended to. "Why would you volunteer? You're eighteen you could have been done with this whole mess. What in the name of goodness possessed you?"

"Mom, we need the money. We've been making ends meet, but we could be better. We could be so much better and I can make it happen."

"Money isn't worth your life, son."

"Amelia, the decision has already been made," his father stepped in, trying to be the voice of reason.

Nero could feel the tone in the room beginning to shift again. His mother was coming around and now was his time to work the charm that always got him out of trouble. He went up to her and stroked her cheek.

"Mom, I've been training for eight years. I know my strengths and I know the games. I can do this. Believe in me. Just imagine in two weeks I'll be coming back with all of the riches you could ever imagine." His mother couldn't reject the smile that lit up his eyes just thinking of the perfect life for his family, carefree for the rest of their days and all because he had the strength to put up with a week or two of hard work. His mother didn't say anything; there was nothing more Amelia could do than put her arms around her son and hold him tight for what might be the last time. His father was next and then he put the girls in his arms.

"Tami," he said to the fifteen year old "those boys had better keep their distance until I get back. You're turning into a beautiful young lady and if any of the hooligans think they're going to see you without my permission, they've got another thing coming." Nero could hear his father chuckling, probably from imagining Nero hurting someone for giving his sister a blade of grass like he had so many years ago.

"Flora, look after mom and dad. You're the most responsible one around the house now." This time his mother chuckled. It was a nightmare to get Flora to clean her pigsty of a room, any other responsibility was an impossibility.

The door opened and his family was gone. Nero breathed. The next time he saw them, they would be bathed in riches.

**Glade Harborn – District 2 Mentor**

Glade had triple checked the corridor to ensure that no one was around before diving into his room on the train and bolting the door. Hiero was too busy making last minute preparations around the train or something of that sort, Glade didn't really care. Echo was anywhere but nearby; he didn't even have the faintest idea of where she might be. He was secure in the knowledge that for once he was truly alone; not even the Capitol cameras could see him. He fingered his whip, his cat o nine tails, the very instrument with which he had won his victory fifteen years prior, and in one swift motion he let it soar through the air and it made a great impact upon his back.

"Dane," he whispered the name of the first tribute, breathed deeply and summoned his strength as he swung the weapon again. "Nero," he said at the impact and then put the instrument down again. It had done its work. His mirrors revealed that his back was bleeding, not profusely, but enough that it should have been painful. It wasn't. Glade felt nothing physical, no pleasure, no pain, not anymore. So year by year his body built up unfelt, unseen scars, each bearing the name of a tribute unalterably destroyed by the games. This was his power. He could not control anything within the tributes, within the arena, or truly anything at all. He could not give himself a peaceful death, but he could do this, show his body that he had at least the power to make it endure a voluntary wound.


	4. Teacher of All Things

**Chapter Three: The Teacher of All Things**

_Welcome, Readers, to District Three. Just a reminder to keep an eye out for perspective alliances, whether you've submitted a tribute yourself or are an outside eye. Feedback is also welcome. I don't bite, I promise. And . . . as always . . . The Hunger Games is not mine. _

_Thanks to __**jakey121 **__and__** Copycat121 **__for Ailis and Raivel respectively._

Cast:

Leunam Valeres – Victor of 5th Annual Hunger Games (at age 16) now 29

Iris Coralin – Victor of 6th Annual Hunger Games (at age 17) now 29

Doran Harper – Escort

**POV Leunam Valeres:**

Leunam couldn't help but smirk. He knew Iris frowned upon it, but through so many years of standing before the crowd as the two tributes were selected, he'd grown numb, perhaps worse than numb. Just the night before Iris had accused him of being the Capitol's tool, playing into their game. Perhaps she was right. Maybe it was just the remnants of rebel blood in her veins. Leunam couldn't help being pleased with how his life was going, though. Yes, he had to teach tributes how to fight, but it was only for a month each year. Emotions were for those less disciplined, less realistic. He'd hidden in logic. That was how he had won his games and how he had helped Iris win hers. Now life was progressing as he'd planned. They were on course to marry and, if need be, usher their children through the games. It was a small price to pay for the protection provided to them by the Capitol.

He and Iris held hands as they took the stage. What better way to demonstrate the triumph, the stability of being victors? They had both survived hell with their wits intact and, Leunam would say, were better for it. He was grateful he stood beside Iris, her black dress willowing about her and her face already wearing a look of mourning. He cleared his throat and glared at her and she put on her smile, not the one that lit her hazel eyes like a sunlit field, but one that convinced the crowd she was happy. He and Iris were the perfect team when they met tributes, she was the warm one and he was the strict one. He hoped someday soon they would be equally adequate parents.

Doran stepped to Iris's side just as the Capitol anthem finished. If anything he seemed more nervous than either of the two of them. His worst fear was mis-pronouncing someone's name, he'd confessed this morning, and somehow getting the wrong person onstage. His hands were literally shaking as he pulled the girl's name from his bowl.

"For the young ladies, please welcome to the stage" Leunam could tell he was biding his time, crossing his fingers that he pronounced the name right; he almost chortled at the escort's agony, but Iris squeezed his hand so hard that he nearly cried out. "Ailis Neilan".

There was an audible gasp from the eighteen-year old section and Leunam could tell at an instant that the tribute this year hadn't seen this coming by a long shot. The crowd parted to reveal a trembling young woman. Her hazel eyes spread wide as she willed herself to take a step forward towards the platform. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and shook out her arms in a deliberate motion. One trembling step after another she made her way towards the platform, her pace becoming steadier at every step, her long blonde hair struggling to free itself from the headband she had tied it back with. Finally she was at the platform and she had done it. She hadn't cried a single tear. Leunam could sense that for her this was a small victory; she would need it in the days to come. Iris clearly wanted to put her hand on her shoulder, but Leunam held it tight. Perhaps their example would inspire the girl, put a smile on her face. Old Doran, a true optimist at heart, waited a moment, as though hoping for a volunteer to take this girl's place like they may have in District One or Two, but there was only silence.

"And now for the boys. . ." Doran looked at the trio onstage, dreading the petrified look on the face of whatever child was brought forwards next. "Raivel Aukins" .

The smallest section parted for a boy dressed in a tattered, terribly worn jacket that added its own touch to his dress shirt and pants. The boy stood, unmoving for an instant, then, as though he suddenly went insane, a smile flashed across his face and he strutted to the stage, looking smugly. He seemed to eye up Ailis with an odd air of confidence, almost unbecoming of a twelve year old.

"May I present to you all, District Three's Tributes for the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games," Doran announced as the two went to shake hands. It seemed as though the younger one was considering Ailis' hand for a second, but then he shook it, the same smirk still on his face. Then they were ushered in to their rooms to farewell their loved ones.

**Ailis Neilan:**

"I don't understand how this happened. Can't we bribe someone to volunteer?" Ailis's mother fussed, readjusting Ailis's hair.

"It's too late for that," Ailis said realistically, trying her best not to use what could be her final moments with her family moping.

"Well, then, you'll just have to come back, I suppose. Do me proud," she insisted, fumbling for words.

"You're a smart girl, Ailis. Remember that and be proud of it," her father cajoled her, supportively stroking her long hair. Ailis smiled to comfort her parents. They deserved that at least. They had given her all she could ever desire, spoilt her as she grew up and now this is how fate repaid them, by taking their only child to the arena. She was certain that everyone else would think she was a pampered and primped smart girl from District Three, all identities she had fought in her teenage years. Her mind ran with what would come next, trying to plan a strategy, but she wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment, to relish this time with her parents.

"Any final words of advice?" Ailis asked, desperate to wake up and have this be a dream that her ill directed mind had fashioned at some evil hour of the night. Yet she knew it wasn't; the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon both her and her parents.

"Find the tributes from the rich districts. They'll be exceptional allies and some of them may have had training," it surprised Ailis that her mother spoke up. The games were required viewing, of course, but Leia had always given off the impression that she didn't pay attention, much less would have any opinion on the matter.

"Ailis, you're brilliant. Trust yourself to be able to come up with a strategy once you're forced into the arena. Remember, only one of you can succeed, all of the other twenty three have to die if I'm going to see my daughter again, so, please, remember that. Even if you have allies, you must be stronger, or smarter than them. I truly believe you can do this." Ailis's hazel eyes met his, the caring eyes that had raised her and held her. As she took both of her parents' hands, she tried to find her identity between the two of them, balancing finding a balance between her desire to be something entirely and truly not knowing who she was. Her mother began to sniffle and a knock came on the door.

"Ailis, where's your ring? The one I gave you for your birthday?" her mother fussed? Ailis looked at her hand and indeed, it wasn't there.

"It must have fallen on the way here," she excused herself. "Don't worry, I don't need a token to remember you by. I love you both." They quickly embraced and then the door firmly shut behind them. It was quickly opened again to Aliza, Ailis's best friend.

"You're coming back," Aliza stated determinately. In her fervor, she was clearly oblivious to the odds of her statement, but Ailis didn't care. For the first time since her name had been called, and possibly the last, she felt comfortable. With Aliza beside her, she felt she had an identity separate from her intelligence or her family's reputation. "I was going to say something terribly important. . . Oh, did you see that boy, the red-head on your way up to the stage? He totally looked like he wanted to ask you out. And the boy beside him, Evan, I think his name is, he'd be perfect for me. We'll double date when you get back and have even more money." Ailis took a deep breath as Aliza's eyes focused on the wall, clearly day dreaming of whatever fantasy she had in mind for them, lavishing extravagant amounts of money on splendid escapades. A huge part of her wanted to scream at her friend, protesting that she'd just been reaped for the hunger games, but years of standing on ceremony backfired and, even in these last moments with her friend. "Just think how excellent life will be as a Victor." Ailis cringed. This encounter wasn't helping as much as she'd imagined it would; instead of subsiding into one final moment of normality her thoughts were racing forward to training and how she would manage to kill enough tributes, be clever enough to bring herself home to her family, and fearing how she would change in the process. Aliza threw her arms around Ailis, but Ailis detangled herself and Aliza was heading towards the door even before the Peacekeepers knocked to dismiss her. Ailis plopped down again. Even now, the stubborn tears would not fall.

**Raivel Aukins:**

Raivel knew no one would come for him. He'd spent his entire life at the orphanage and even there had kept everyone at a distance. He was perky enough, friendly, enough, but he'd always had to look out for himself, had had to fight for anything and everything that he wanted. He'd had enough of that fighting. He'd been paralyzed as his name had been called, but a second later, a thought hit him: this was it. This was the solution to all of his problems. If he could just do this, could just prove his worth and win the Hunger Games, he would be set for life, bathed in riches. He would never have to work, to worry, and would at last have the glamorous life he had dreamed of for all twelve years of his life. He had the skill to do it too, he thought, as he fingered Ailis' ring in his hand. She had no idea that he had it. It would come with him. The only other thing he would bring was the gold necklace round his neck, his prize which he had gained by robbing District Three's most esteemed citizen. He had never been caught. If his luck continued, he could see himself, a month from now, indeed becoming the Victor of the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games. And experience had taught him not to count himself out, so to the games he would go.


	5. Put To Silence - District 4

_Hi y'all. Welcome to District Four's Reapings. _

_1__st__ order of business: I still do not own the Hunger Games, or Julius Caesar (which is having less amazing quotes than I hoped, so my chapter titles have been mediocre . . . my apologies.) _

_2__nd__ order of business: There is a blog up. I'm going to need help linking it to my profile (Elim9?) or whatever it is you folks do. The address might be: .com. It'll be up on my profile too and I'll continue to update as the Games progress. _

_**That's all the business end folks, now on with the show. Thank you Isteed and Rockkit for Freida and Ibrahima**_

District Four

**Put to Silence**

Cast: Excelcia Mercilus – Victor of First Games at 18 (currently 36)

Mags Cohen – Victor of 11th Annual Hunger Games at 13 (currently 20)

Escort Evriam Link

**POV Mags Cohen**

"Are you ready this time?" Excelcia demanded, a smug smirk on her face.

"Yes," Mags responded quietly.

"You're absolutely certain you're not going to vomit again? If you do, I may challenge you to an onstage duel for the embarrassment you cause me." Mags wanted to scream 'I was fourteen! That was six years ago,' but could never bring herself to do it. For the past six years she'd been eclipsed by Excelcia and her controlling attitude. She was never horrible, to Mags at least, but she made it very clear that she was in control when the tributes were in the arena. Well, not only then, really. Even in everyday life in the Victor's Village it seemed as though Mags would be a perpetual child, never as exceptional or as brilliant as Excelcia, the first victor ever. Yes, Mags had gained her glory as District Four's second Victor and was assisting Excelcia at the developing Career Academy, but it was Excelcia's baby. She could keep the glory; most of the time Mags wanted nothing to do with it.

"It's time!" Excelcia's sharp voice pierced through Mags' daydreaming. She took the younger Victor's hand, but not affectionately. "Let's go meet the prospects." She smiled and led Mags out onto the stage beside where Evriam Link was already waiting, her aqua hair flirting with the ground. Excelcia beamed as they emerged in applause. Mags still didn't understand why the people applauded at their appearance. They were coming, after all, to subject two of their children to terror from which they most likely wouldn't emerge.

Mags felt her knees shaking during the Capitol anthem. She hated the eyes of people, even more the eyes of everyone in her district, everyone from whom she was now separated in the Victor's Village. She hated it, but she couldn't let it show. She put a fake smile on her face and allowed her mind to go blank.

"Freida Vasey!" The sound of Evriam's voice jolted Mags from her reverie.

"Oh, come on! This is all a set up! Can't you see I'll snap in half before we get to the arena!" exclaimed a voice from the sixteen year old section. It belonged to a girl who Mags thought might indeed snap in half. She was skinny, but not a skeleton due to malnutrition. She looked like she might run, might even outrun the Peacekeepers, but she paced determinately towards the stage, handling herself confidently, knowing no one was going to volunteer. Mags recognized this girl, one of the rougher ones of the district. She wore the bandana she nearly always wore and a spotted dress that made it clear she would have preferred to wear pants. In it Freida looked even skinnier than she usually did. Mags had been in school with most of her older brothers. Maybe they'd trained her on the side. Perhaps she had a chance, Mags told herself, after all she hadn't cried like so many people still did and had shown she certainly had a temper and wit about her. Maybe that would win her some sponsors right from the get-go. Mags stole a side glance at Excelcia to see if she could read her thoughts, but she still wore the same unreadable smile that she always did; what else could Mags have expected.

"For the boys, Perseus Witham." Evriam announced.

"I volunteer!" a deep voice from the 18 year old section called forth with great confidence. Mags definitely saw Excelcia's smile widen as a chiseled 6' 1" young man emerged and strode towards them. His charming smile lit up the stage as though he was born to stand beside Excelcia.

"And what is your name, young man?"

"I'm Ibrahima Abdulai," Mags shuttered. She knew that name too. The boy had only been two years behind her in school and had always been likeable. She waited for him to crack a joke to match the smile that he wore.

"Excuse me, Ms. Link, may I say something very quickly." Evriam stood aside and allowed Ibrahima access to the microphone. "District Four, it will be an honor to represent you this year as your male tribute. And, as my farewell to all of you, I have an important question. Why did the skeleton not go to the party?" Mags cringed, wishing Evriam had never given him the mic. "It had no body to dance with."

"So you think you can make jabs at my size!" Freida erupted. The look on Ibrahima's face made it clear this wasn't how he intended his ill-timed joke to go over. "Wait till we get to the arena! We'll see who's dancing then!" Freida spat at him, looking like she wanted to tackle him to the ground right then and there.

"District Four, your tributes for the 18th Annual Hunger Games!" Evriam announced hastily. "Shake hands you two," she commanded, her voice channeling every authority figure who is on their last nerve; patience was never Evriam's strong suit. The two tributes obediently shook hands, each seeming to squeeze a bit too tightly to the other. Maybe they were already in the games, Mags though, as the doors closed behind each of them.

**Freida Vasey 16**

"He's the first one I take down," Freida muttered to her brothers as they all hovered around her. Of the five of them, one or two giggled, which was a win in her book. Her father, Ammadeus, looked stern and distant as he had since he entered the room.

"That was a rotten spot of luck," their father commended. He was trying to be brave, trying to set an example for everyone in the room, but he was failing, so Freida knew she had to be strong for him. It couldn't be easy, seeing his only girl sent off to the games.

"Hey, I've got a chance, you know," Freida objected out of sheer habit. It was what she had always done when her father begged her not to do something her brothers were doing; he'd learned long ago that he couldn't rein her in with strict discipline.

"I know you do, Freida. It's just . . ." Ammadeus's voice broke and there was silence in the room. None of her brothers knew what to do. They'd always been there to protect her, to be by her side if she needed them. They were used to the idea of her getting hurt, but in the past it had been their fault. If they wrestled too hard and she broke an arm it was their job to explain to their father why his baby girl needed to be taken to the medic, or why she was wearing long pants or long sleeves in the heat of the summer. They may have always gotten her into trouble, but they'd always been there to get her out of it too.

"You know I'd go in for you if I could," Boone chirped up and their father retreated towards the back wall, collecting himself. Freida mentally sighed; although well intentioned, Boone, her closest brother always had the worst timing and the biggest mouth. Normally she loved him for it and would laugh at his indelicacies, but this wasn't a time for laughter or cover ups. It was a time for her to focus on the six reasons she needed to return. Their father needed his baby girl. Since his wife had died in childbirth with Freida he had clung to her as a last remnant of his marriage and had spoiled her as much as a single father could spoil his only rose. She had her name, her looks, and her wit, or so she'd been told by Everett, her oldest brother, the only one who truly remembered their mother with any clarity. He'd been eleven when she died, and now, at 27 was the most awkward fitting into the family structure. At the reaping, Freida was sure he'd been concerned about his own children, barely sparing a thought for his sister, who he was certain could handle herself. Then there was Ivaril, three years younger than Everett. Whenever she saw him it seemed as though she was looking at herself, her brown eyes matching his. Silas was the middle child and always the wisest, his grey eyes always able to defeat Freida whenever they would fight and his intellect a match for hers. By the time she returned he would complete his schooling to be one of the District's healers. Then there was Argon, her second oldest brother, not the strongest, but the most determined, the one who would never go easy on her and who was usually the one responsible for Freida's injuries. His flaming red hair matched his temper.

"You'll come back halfpint. Say something," Boone's voice pierced the silence. He was always impatient and the only one in the family who was uncomfortable with silence. Hence his ill-timed tongue.

"Of course I'm coming back. You lot wouldn't make it a day without me. Try to hold it together until I'm home."

The customary knock at the door and it was time for them to leave. Everett secured her bandana around her neck and then they were gone, leaving Freida in silence.

**Ibrahima **

It was empowering to have both Znadia and his father in the room. Both had known this was coming, so they'd be able to avoid the hasty, emotional farewells. The only downside was his father was giving Znadia the skeptical look he always did. Ever since she'd broken up with him a couple of years ago his father didn't really know how to quantify their relationship. They were friend, Ibrahima told him insistently. He would always shrug and roll his eyes; ever since Ibrahima's mom had left him he didn't think of women as people to befriend, but rather people to ignore.

"I know you don't need me to coach you, but choose your allies wisely," his father reminded him. "That's about the only thing you haven't had practice with. You'll have the pick of the bunch, so don't be too eager to make too many friends. Remember, there's only one alpha dog." Ibrahima rolled his eyes; everything always had to do with his dogs when his dad was giving advice since dog training was his expertise.

"I have something that I want you to take with you as your district token," Znadia said, her eyes lighting up in that knowing, teasing way they always did. The ring on her finger glistened in the light as she brought something from her pocket.

"You should keep that," he protested, instantly recognizing what she held. "I gave it to you for a reason."

"I want you to have it, so I know you're thinking of me in the arena," Znadia insisted, holding the diamond out. It glistened in the palm of his hand as he bore its weight. It felt as though he was holding the weight of their relationship, of how much he had loved Znadia from the moment he set eyes on her at the tender age of twelve, to the weight of their relationship now, having been romantic and now not. Did she think that was why he had volunteered for the games? To impress her or win her back? She was a huge part of his life, even now, but that wasn't why.

"Will they let you take that in?" his father questioned, always the voice of reason. "It could be chucked at someone as a weapon."

"Please, I can charm them into letting me do anything." The door opened to announce the time. "Hey Znadia, how can you tell if this gold is a fake?"

"How?" Znadia asked, her radiant smile beaming at him.

"Leave the room and see if it talks trash about your other jewelry." She laughed and that was the last sound he heard before the room was put to silence.


	6. No Peace Tonight

_Hi all, I'm trucking on to District 5. My thanks to __**bobothebear**__ and __**Elim9**__ for Altair and Elric respectively. Also, a reminder to keep an eye out for tribute alliances and finally, I still don't own the Hunger Games. _

**District 5 **

**No peace to-night**

**Mentor: Alorea McKenna Victor of the 5****th**** annual Hunger Games at the age of 16 (now 29)**

**Escort: Ebba Runa**

"Alorea!" Ebba's shrill voice reminded Alorea where she was, when she was. She had stopped just before the platform, gazing off into space. Funny, she didn't remember what she'd been thinking of right before then. This seemed to be happening to her more and more, as she distanced herself more and more from the games. Yet here they were, succumbing to the routine of another Hunger Games, another two tributes. Funny, she found she was forgetting their names and faces. . .

"Alorea!" Ebba hollered again, losing her patience. Hadn't she just called her name? Ebba grabbed her hand and dragged her to the stage, too stubborn to allow her to hide for the Reaping, but exceptionally grateful that she only had to deal with Alorea once a year.

Before she knew it the Capitol anthem was done and Ebba was droning on before she called the girl's name. Had the account of the history of Panem always been that short? Somehow Alorea could have sworn it hadn't been.

"For the girls, Altair Ellion!" The sixteen year old section parted as a shaking blond haired girl in an old dress steadily walked forward. It was clear to Alorea that she was suppressing sobs, but she was doing a pretty good job of it. Almost to the front, she gasped, unsuccessfully guarding one heartfelt sob, but no tears fell from her cheek and by the time she joined Alorea she had nearly regained control of herself, but was still shaking as the Peacekeepers edged in, just in case. Even Alorea hated when they did that. It was clear enough that no one could escape their fate once they were beside her on the stage; was the additional reminder truly a necessity. It was only then that Alorea could tell that although the girl had showered and bathed, made herself as presentable as she could before the reaping, it seemed as though she'd had to make do. She was dressed in an outfit that fell awkwardly around her shoulders, as if it belonged to someone shorter and with more meat on their bones than the skinny specimen before her. Alorea couldn't help but wonder where . . .

"Elric Trace" Alorea snapped to attention as the fifteen year old section and a small, good looking young man emerged from the crowd. He stood in stark contrast to Altair, outfitted in a dark blue suit that matched his complexion well. As he calmly, evenly, strode towards the stage, his dark eyes met Alorea's hazel ones; not with fear, but with a true sense of propriety and formality. Once he was beside her, he stood out and looked at the audience, as though meeting each of their eyes, connecting with each of them. Then he even forced a smile. It seemed to Alorea that a few of the audience members even smiled back, relieved that it wasn't them standing in his place. Elric held out his hand to Altair to shake and she took it, trembling even as she did.

**Altair Ellion Age 16**

She would have given anything to hold her violin one last time. As horrible as living in the district's steets had been, disowned by her real family, it would be nothing compared to what she would have to face in the games. Music was her only escape from the world's cruelty, the only way she made a living, and her safety net between herself and death. She couldn't take it with her into the arena.

And what was even harder, now she had three minutes to bid farewell to the only two people who mattered to her. Camden, her other half in the music making on the streets looked down at her with his weathered eyes and his ruffled hair, not speaking. At nineteen he had been safe from the games, but now his worst fear had come true, that his duet partner would disappear into the eternal rest of the games.

Liana, their plump, goodhearted caretaker sat in silence as well, re-doing Altair's hair in an unending need to do something. It had never been necessary for her to be there for them, to befriend their family. Hers had always been able to make ends meet, even spare a coin or two, yet she had been beside Camden and Altair through their troubles.

It was so odd of them to sit in silence, but none of the musicians could find the words they needed to finish the song.

A metallic drumming sound resounded at the door.

"We're not finished," Camden protested, speaking for the first time in the beat they'd spent together.

"Wrap it up," the Peacekeeper said, probably more lenient than most. He knew no one else was coming. He knew the final measure was beginning.

Still unable to speak, Camden and Liana simply embraced Altair in an eternal hug. How Altair wanted this to be a fermata, a moment that dragged on until the end of time. She would be content to die here in their arms, not in the games. Die here, sooner and at peace, rather than the torture that awaited her and 23 others.

The silence remained, knowing that a single breath could begin the next phrase, beginning the short march to the games.

An eternity later, the three friends broke off and Camden shoved something into Altair's hand: his very best guitar pick. There were no promises of her return or that she would try her best. These were best unspoken, so that whatever melody played itself next would begin of its own accord.

**Elric Trace: **

"This is completely ridiculous. I can't believe they called you! It's not fair!" Lamont exclaimed. Elric's best friend meant well, but Elric knew this show of anger was doing more for him than it did to Elric. That's why he had asked to see him first. He'd politely say goodbye to everyone in District 5 he cared about.

"Life's not fair, Lamont," Elric said emotionlessly. "Thank you for coming. I really wanted to say goodbye before I have to go. Thanks for being my friend for all of these years."

"Don't you go talking like you're not coming back. We'll see each other again. You're going to kill all of them and come back a hero." Lamont seemed like he was talking big, but if nothing, he knew Elric. He knew that once he was in the games, or in training, he would be there 100% and would certainly have a chance. Would it be enough to keep him alive, though?

Their discordant encounter ended in a hug and Lamont slapped his friend on the back.

"Buck up," he said. "Alena's coming," and on his way out Lamont whistled, as though he'd almost forgotten that his best friend was gearing up for a flight to the death.

Sure enough, Alena Barret entered the room, her short, stout frame casting a shadow as the door closed. She didn't speak at first, but embraced Elric. Not wanting to break the silence, Elric kissed her. She sat him down and began to massage his shoulders, like she'd always do when she wanted to force him to slow down and stop trying to please everyone. She always hit the right notes, said the right things, but now there was nothing to say, so she let her hands do the talking, let her touch soothe him one final time. All too soon she had to take her hands from him as the Peacekeeper silently entered the room, not wanting to disturb them. She kissed him one last time and then was gone.

The moment he'd been dreading came and Elric's parents, entered the room. His mother was shaking, but trying her best to keep it together for her son. His father's eyes glistened with tears and compassion, but his voice was firm when he spoke.

"How are you, Elric?" he asked, reaching out to stroke his son's neatly combed hair, almost an image of his own.

"I'm scared, dad," Elric said, his voice choking more than he'd expected. Reality was finally hitting that these would be his last moments with his family, with the two people who had raised him and he was scared. His mother took his hand as he started trembling. If he was going to seem scared, he'd better get it over with in the next few moments, after his good first impression, he couldn't bear to let the cameras, the audience, see him fall apart.

"We love you son," his mother said, her hands trembling almost as much as his.

"You mean the world to us," his father said, his arm around his shoulder now and Elric lost it. His shoulders trembled as he burst into tears. This was only made worse by him wondering how much time had passed, how long he had to get himself together. He started to panic.

Suddenly from outside their cell, a melody arose. Elric couldn't tell where it was coming from, but then he heard his mother's voice join the tune.

"Sleep my child, let peace attend thee, all through the night. Guardians ride and will surround thee, all through the night." A knock at the door sounded and suddenly Elric felt ready. His parents' arms released him as they faded into the many people of the district. Yet, the melody remained, and Elric could have sworn he heard a guitar playing the final strains of the lullaby and he knew it would be the last peace he would know for many nights.

"_Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night" – Act II Scene II_


	7. A Spark of Life

_Hi all: Thank you for all of the reviews so far. I am technologically impaired and just now figured out how to access them, so my apologies for not responding to any of them (hides head in shame) Welcome to District 6. I'm going to try to give this story some adrenaline and get to the games before Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) in November, but I'm not too terribly optimistic that's going to happen, so I'll have to find a way to balance this story and my attempt into the world of novels. _

_Thanks to __** LokithisisMadness **__and __**Addicted-To-My-Reflection **__for Tavia and Jayanti respectively._

_That said, enjoy and I still don't own the Hunger Games or their universe. Thanks to Suzanne Collins for allowing me to play in it. _

**A Spark of Life: District Six**

**Mentor: Ava Ermingard – Victor of 2****nd**** Annual Hunger Games at 16 current age 32 (husband Steponus Ermingard (not a Victor))**

**Mentor: Joran Duff – Victor of 12****th**** Annual Hunger Games at 15 current age 21 **

**Escort: Birmina Lanzo**

The delicate pink dress that Steponus had picked out for her made Ava feel terribly out of place, as though she should be at a christening instead of a reaping. She hadn't been able to decide what to wear, so he picked the outfit he thought made her look youngest; her husband had a flare for the ironic. She only wished he could be standing beside her right now, instead of Joran, holding her hand so she wouldn't stop fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

The children before her seemed as though they got younger every year. As she looked out at the rows and rows of them, she couldn't help but wonder what horror went through their parents' minds as they stood on the sidelines, wondering if their child's name would be called, if this year was the year their hearts were ripped from their chests.

"You look different this year," Birmina commented in a whisper as the Capitol anthem played. "I can't quite place it. Maybe it's your hair." Ava smiled briefly, giving the escort the acknowledgement she needed. Birmina was the newest of their threesome and she was still getting the feel for their dynamic, so Ava did her best to be patient with her. Their previous escort, Aldard, had had a sense of formality and knew when to speak and when to be silent, a skill Birmina had yet to master.

The stage fell into an awkward lull as the film finished. Most escorts wouldn't skip a beat and would let the adrenaline of the patriotic theme lunge them into the calling of the names, but Birmina was missing her cue.

"Birmi!" Joran hissed at her so loudly Ava was sure the first rows of tributes had heard him. Flustered, Birmina made her way to the microphone to announce the girls.

"Ooh!" Birmina exclaimed as her hand touched the bowl. Her hair stood on end as though she had been shocked by the bowl, an impossibility since the bowl was glass. She giggled and smoothed out her long hair so that its golden ends were finally straight before she continued. Ava could hear Joran impatiently tapping his foot as she proceeded.

"Brutus is going to butcher her," he muttered under his breath and Ava once again prayed he wasn't as loud as he seemed.

"For the girls, Tavia Peri. Where are you dear?" Birmina said the entire phrase in one breath, apparently having realized that she was delaying the show; no doubt she'd heard Joran. Ava's eyes scanned the crowd as the 18 year old section parted. There was no movement until from the sidelines an older girl, undoubtedly Tavia's sister, called her name again. They were too far away to hear it, but Ava was certain the older girl was telling her that she had to go. The younger looked a bit confused and re-arranged her striking long hair for one second before smiling and walking forward through the masses. She towered most of the other girls, standing at around 5'10" and matched Joran in height as she stood beside him on the stage. She was a beauty; no doubt some boy would be bidding her farewell today, hoping she would return.

"And now for the boys," Birmina called out, slightly more assured of herself. "Jayanti Haeok." Once again there was a stillness that encompassed the 16 year old male section and a pregnant pause as the boy who most have been Jayanti stared straight forward. Although he didn't move, Ava didn't see the terror she expected on his face, just a blank look. "Come on forward, don't be shy," Birmina urged.

"Goodness," Joran muttered impatiently. Ava knew all he wanted was to be in the midst of the games so he could feel as though he was actually doing something, but his anxiousness made her want to smack him across the face.

All of a sudden, the frail boy did move; he began quickly jogging towards the stage, still not in terror or anticipation, he simply seemed as though he needed to make it there, another step in the journey, another deed he must perform. He stood beside his district partner who loomed over him. Quite the pair they were, both thin, neither one an immediate pick for a victory or a loss and, most notably for Ava, neither of them seemed nearly as petrified as they should be. Ava couldn't help but wonder if either of them still had any spark of life in them as they disappeared into their respective rooms.

**Jayanti Haeok Age 16. **

"I want to come back," Jayanti said to himself, pacing his room as he waited for the Peacekeepers to escort him to the train. His visitors had come and gone and neither had offered him any comfort.

"I love you, I love you," his mother had repeated over and over and over, as though her voice were the lulling sound of a train already moving further and further away. Her voice drained by the morphling addiction, Jayanti wasn't sure she knew what was actually happening, wasn't sure she was conscious of the fact that this might be the last time she saw her son. As the Peacekeepers had dragged her away, she had clung to his arm, but even that action had a lifeless feel about it, as though she wasn't holding onto him for his life or hers, but because she could, because there was a part of her in the distance that whispered that she should and for once that voice won out, if only for an instant.

He had to come back for her, he told himself. She needed him to bring her her drugs, to show her care. Wasn't he her hope?

Or was she his? He had always lived in his mother's shadow, desperate for her approval, her love. Maybe if he returned she would finally give him the mother's tenderness he'd craved. How long had it been, before today, that she'd actually said those three words he craved, that any unattended child craved?

He returned to pacing. What was taking the Peacekeepers so long? It seemed as though he had been alone for hours, ever since Kyan left. Kyan, whose fist had been the last physical contact Jayanti would have with anyone in District Six. Kyan, the older brother Jayanti had never had, using the pain to numb Jayanti for what he would feel in the games. Kyan, whose eyes treasured all of the pain that Jayanti went through, who might even relish the pain he would endure in the arena. Jayanti closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it; he wasn't ready.

**Tavia Peri Age 18**

"I'm not ready," Tavia's mother protested, tears streaming down her face as she held out a hair clip to her daughter. She knew she would want it as her district token, so, in her thoughtfulness, had of course grabbed it before she and her father came to farewell their daughter. Now she stood just by the door, looking as though she herself might flee rather than endure the heartbreak of Tavia's leave-taking.

Her husband, Cadmar, took her hand, anchoring her in the room.

"I wanted us all to be together," he explained. "We're stronger as a family."

They certainly were. Tavia looked around the room and she saw the four people that she cared about in the District: Her hard-working parents who had sacrificed so much so to give her and her sister a good life, her boyfriend, Hadrian, who supportively stood by her and her sister, her precious sister, who was combing her hair into one last side braid. Cerise knelt by her side as she braided Tavia's long dark hair, her grey eyes studying Tavia's features, as though she would paint a picture from memory and sleep beside it every night. Tavia did the same, dreading the nights in the Capitol and the arena without her older sister beside her.

"I'm coming back to you all," Tavia said, after what seemed like an eternity. That only made her mother cry harder and her father took her into his arms. He sighed and sensed that the two of them needed to hasten their goodbye so that Tavia could have time with her sister. He brought his wife to Tavia's side and the two embraced.

"You and your sister mean the world to me," she choked out between sobs. "Stay alive."

"You have the will to fight within you, Tavia," her father said, putting one hand over hers very briefly. "Stay strong and let your spirit guide you." Then her parents were gone.

Hadrian stood a few feet away, seemingly unsure how to react to the entire situation. Just moments before the Reaping they had been bickering, now whatever their spat was about didn't matter at all. She smiled at him, one of her smiles that extended all the way up to her eyes and he smirked back cautiously.

"Don't get too flirty while I'm gone or you'll have a lot to answer for when I get back," Tavia knew it was a shallow comment the instant she said it, but she couldn't resist. She could never hold her tongue when it mattered the most, especially when it mattered with Hadrian. He could be so temperamental.

"And you don't fall for any of the Capitol boys," he retorted. He leaned in and kissed her, a routine that might end today and then followed her parents, leaving the two sisters alone.

Neither of them spoke. Their bond was such that words weren't needed, but were shared in abundance; silences were saved for times like this, for the times like every night as they shared their room and ran out of things to say for the day and then fell asleep to the sound of each other's breathing. Tavia ran her fingers through her sister's red hair a non-verbal expression of gratitude for everything they had shared, for the 18 years they had together. Tavia was convinced Cerise could feel just how much she was going to miss her in the touch of her fingers on her scalp.

"I'm coming back," Tavia said determinedly. Cerise simply nodded. "When have you ever known me to break a promise. I promise Cerise, I'm coming back."

"I'll hold you to it," Cerise said, embracing her sister as the door opened. Then she too was gone and Tavia was left alone.

**Ava Ermingard:**

Watching District Six begin to disappear into the distance, Ava didn't feel alone. She was in her room on the train, taking a couple of precious moments away from Joran and Birmina to simply be in silence and stillness, but she couldn't seem to find what she sought. It seemed to Ava that the train swayed just a little bit, maybe more than a little. Suddenly her stomach felt as though it was churning and she needed to sit. She clung to the edge of a chair and had a moment of dread. She clutched her bosom and began to understand. Perhaps this was a spark of life.

"_You are dull . . . and those sparks of life_

_That should be in a Roman you do want" _


	8. Quality and Kind, Fool and Calculate

Greetings again, all. This is very unusual for me, but I have just posted two chapters within 6 hours of each other. So, because I know I would get confused, if you haven't read District Six yet, pause, go back and read that one. Or read this Chapter first if you really want to since it doesn't directly build on anything mentioned in District Six yet.

Thank you **Khloe Grace** and **Elim9 **for Bailey and Jonas respectively.

And finally, completing two chapters in one day, surprisingly, does not magically transform me into Suzanne Collins, so I still don't own the Hunger Games and I'm not Shakespeare, so I can claim no authorship to any of the end quotes.

**Quality and Kind, Fool and Calculate District Seven**

**Mentor: Aeden Sanderling: Victor of the 7****th**** Annual Hunger Games at age 15 (now 26)**

**Escort: Euripides Algrehn**

"Calli!" Aeden heard his own scream before he become conscious of where he was. The ship was still churning on the ocean. Her red hair was blowing in the wind only feet away from him. Was that her laughter ringing out in the air and mixing with the giggling of the wind? An inch closer and he could reach out and grab her. Maybe this time he had a chance to save his best friend.

No. Aeden's breathing slowed as his senses told him where he was. From the colors of his nightmare, the dismal real world came into focus. The darkness of his sanctuary engulfed him, the bed which was supposed to provide all the comforts of a Capitol induced nightly coma provided none of the solace he yearned; it never had. For ten years the nightmares still plagued him. The only difference was he'd stopped telling anyone about them. It was better to endure them alone.

He knew the hour must nearly be upon them. Every year for the past ten years his body resisted this day, sleeping in until the last possible moment, praying that some miracle would wake him on this day eleven years past and somehow write a different fate. The late morning sun peering through his windows in the Victor's village insisted that this was not to be.

Aeden dragged himself out of bed, already dressed for the day. He swished his dark hair to one side, not even bothering to look in the mirror. For now he was District Seven's sole victor and the public would have to take what they could get. His true efforts were reserved for his tributes

As always, Euripides met him outside his house door.

"I almost thought you weren't coming this year. I wouldn't have blamed you. After coming so painfully close last year with . . . what was her name . . ."

"Please stop," Aeden cut Euripides off. The look on the escort's face betrayed his shock at Aeden's unusually abrupt assertion, but Aeden didn't care. He could face the tributes today, but anything more would be too much to bear. It was bad enough that he returned to the past in his dreams years after the tides of fate had moved on, but to have a living breathing being intentionally force him into the salty sea as his wounds opened was more than he could bear.

"This year," Euripides assured with the flashy grin he usually saved for the audience. Aeden could only hope he was right. Euripides was impossible to read: hopeful, yet detached from the atrocities that happened in the arena. It was that natural balance that had kept Euripides at it for the past six years, even had him dreaming ambitiously of making connections within the Games. Aeden couldn't help but envy that stability as he took a deep breath and followed the blonde haired model to the stage.

"Welcome to this year's annual hunger games. I have a feeling that this will be our lucky year. It is, after all, my seventh year as an escort, and we are in district seven, so welcome to the seventeenth annual hunger games," Euripides erroneously announced. Aeden didn't care enough about numbers to correct him; calling it the seventeenth annual Hunger Games didn't erase the twenty dead tributes that Aeden had mentored. "We have a delightfully spectacular message for you all today, brought directly from the Capitol, the most wonderful place in the world where two of you will have the honor of going shortly." Aeden braced himself. No matter how many times he heard its drone, the Capitol anthem still sent shocks through his body as he remembered the lonely nights it had resounded out over the waters of his arena, the nights the ship had moaned along with the melody.

As he tried not to listen, Aeden caught sight of something fluttering in the sky. He focused all of his energy on that to keep from reacting, to keep from looking as raw as he felt. The bird was still far off in the distance, but he was hoping that his bird-watching hobby, one of the few things that kept him sane, would be in his favor. Against the grey sky it was hard to see, but the bird seemed white. A dove perhaps? No, the flight pattern was wrong. It came closer just as the last strains of the anthem sounded and with the last note the bird's voice resounded to in a familiar tone. Aeden knew beyond a doubt that it was a seagull. He would leave the question of what it was doing here for later. Now his tributes would need him.

"For the young ladies, Bailey Therms," Euripides announced.

Aeden felt as though he was drowning in the ensuing hush as the twelve year old section parted for a face that looked exactly as he'd imagined it, a younger combination of Sterling and Rana, two two of the twenty he had walked beside from this stage who hadn't made a return journey. The child's dark hair whipped about in the wind was she silently walked towards the stage, completely hiding her downcast face. Even as she walked, Aeden hoped for a miracle, that one of the older children would come forward to take her place. When she took her place beside him, he knew it was not to be; District Seven was not the place of kind fates or miracles.

By the time she reached his side, she was in control of her emotions. That was either an admirable feat for a twelve year old, or a terrifying one; Aeden wasn't sure which it was in Bailey's case. Unexpectedly, she looked up at him with those same eyes that Sterling had, the same serious look that Rana had possessed, and he instinctively put his hand on her shoulder, just as he had with both of her parents. Her youth and vulnerability stung like an open wound, enhanced by her light blue flowery dress that glowed with innocence. The seagull called out again from somewhere up above.

"For the boys, Lycus Ramoa," the fifteen year old section barely had time to part before "I volunteer," rang out. Aeden cringed at the tone; the voice possessed an undeniably pompous quality. Why was fate so terribly unkind?

Euripides's eyebrows shot up in surprise and excitement as a dark haired average height boy strutted forward from the seventeen year old section, looking smug as could be. He was a stark contrast to Bailey, who had by now grabbed onto Aeden's hand. The boy couldn't help but smirk as he passed his new, younger, district partner on the stage.

"What's your name, son?" Euripides asked, acting strangely paternally with the boy who was no more than ten years younger than himself.

"I'm Jonas Tanner. Would you like me to tell you how I'm going to win the _eighteenth_ annual hunger games?" The way he said it made it clear that Jonas had noted and was correcting Euripides's former error.

"You may be, you may be," Euripides smiled, clearly having picked his favorite tribute. "Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the eighteenth annual hunger games! Jonas and Bailey." Jonas turned to Bailey and smiled, not a vengeful smile, but not a welcoming one either. It was abundantly clear that Jonas thought he knew what he was doing. Hesitantly, Bailey smiled and took his hand, but it seemed as though part of her thought he was already plotting her death. After all, thought Aeden in frustration, he was the self-proclaimed victor of the 18th annual hunger games.

The Peacekeepers came to walk Bailey away. She was trembling as they tried to make her let go of Aeden's hand, her brown eyes finally growing wide in fear as she didn't know what was happening.

"They're taking you to say goodbye," Aeden assured her as her fingers released his. "We'll be on the train soon and we'll go from there." As she was ushered off, Aeden resolved, this would be the year that one of them returned; fate simply could not be that heartless, to either of them.

**Bailey Therms: Age 12**

She had to keep control for them. Bailey looked into her Aunt Abi's eyes, the woman who had cared for her since her father had been sent to the games. Bailey still had horrible moments when she thought her Aunt was the only family that she'd ever had. She'd been so young when her father had died and she'd never even known her mother, not really. It wasn't all that surprising then, that she was so close with her aunt.

Despite that closeness, she could never share pain, not really. She had cried when she would have dreams about her father and awake only to realize he wasn't there. Then her aunt would hold her, but Bailey struggled to articulate the deep hurt that the Games had already caused her.

And how could she now. She'd never been able to open that wound before, what could she say in three minutes that could make anything better.

"How are you feeling?" her best friend, Annette asked her. The two of them had come together, as they should. Bailey was Annette's confident, so it only made sense that she would be there for Bailey alongside her guardian.

"I'll be okay," Bailey forced herself to say. And she had to be. She had to keep a lid on her emotions.

Against her will, a single tear trickled down her cheek.

"I'm going to miss you so much," Annette said it so that Bailey wouldn't have to. Bailey threw her arms around her only remaining family, both of them. She could just barely stretch her arms around both of their necks.

"Listen to your mentor," Bailey's aunt advised. "He's been through the games and he came out alive."

'He got both of my parents killed,' Bailey thought, but she didn't say it. She would never say it. She simply repeated the refrain she'd told herself over and over again, that her parents' deaths were awful, but no one's fault. There was no one to be mad at and the time for being sad was done.

"Do you have any other advice?" Bailey asked hopefully. It seemed as though her aunt always had the right words.

"You know yourself, little one. Have faith. You have your own strengths."

"Maybe find some good allies," Annette offered, wanting to be helpful. "You're so sweet someone's going to want to help you." She stifled back a sob, but couldn't stop the tears running down her cheeks. A knock rapped anxiously on the door. Aunt Abi stood both girls up and huddled them, as though in this familial embrace they could withstand the inevitable.

The rap that the door, however, wasn't the Peacekeepers. In came a woman in her late thirties, slender and very worn.

"Who are you?" Aunt Abi demanded.

"I'll just stay a second," the woman explained. "I was a friend of Bailey's mother's and, I know it won't do any good, but I brought this." She extended her hands with a package, hastily wrapped in brown paper. Bailey opened it quizzically and nearly dropped it to the floor when she saw it: an old rag doll missing both of its eyes. "Name it before it's too late," the woman said, dashing from the room as promised.

Bailey could barely believe it.

"Is this . . ." she couldn't bring herself to finish the question, but Aunt Abi answered it anyway.

"Yes, child. It's the same doll your father brought with him to the Games. It's a family heirloom, I suppose. Care for it well, and for yourself. May it bring you better fortune than it did him."

"But how . . ." Bailey began, but was cut off by the door again. This time it was the Peacekeepers again, and they showed the family out, leaving Bailey alone.

She had one last task as she sat alone, awaiting what came, one final thing to care for. A name . . . she looked intently at the blind doll and pondered how it had come to her and what name might fit it. She would have to ponder a while longer.

**Jonas Tanner 17**

"Young Jonas, I would like you to rest assured you have the full and unwavering support of the District. You will bring great pride and distinction to District Seven, allowing us to take our rightful place among the other districts as one of the chief contenders in the Annual Hunger Games."

"I guarantee you, Mr. Mayor, I will be District Seven's second victor." It pleased Jonas to no end that the Mayor had been his first visitor. As any figure-head politician, he said the same things in different ways, hoping no one would notice, but Jonas didn't care. The tides of fate were in his favor and within weeks he would live up to his claim.

"I wish to further extend my offer to bring anything District Seven has to offer, anything you would want for your district token, simply name it and it will be bestowed upon you before you take your leave."

"Mr. Mayor, I truly appreciate your generosity, but I have no need for trinkets. These Games are won through motivation, strategizing, and taking the proper steps, not through good luck charms or superstitions."

The mayor laughed, straightened up and smiled, his plump frame jiggling a bit.

"You and your father have always been practical men. That will make you exceptional in the end. If there is nothing further you need, Jonas, then we will see you soon. We will cheer so vociferously we'll deafen the Capitol from all the way out here." Jonas smiled appreciatively and then was caught off guard as the mayor nearly squashed him with all of his weight in a captivating embrace. He wasn't sorry when the mayor released him and he could once again breath.

His parents filed in next. Jonas had hoped that they would bring the entire family at once, but his mother had clearly gotten her way.

"I gave your brothers a moment to contain themselves," she told Jonas, locking eyes with him. "Is there anything you need?"

"No, mom. I'm ready. You really don't need to say goodbye. You've heard me watching the Games since before I can remember. I could have won if I'd been in any of those other years. If I was the mentor from Seven we'd have won every year and you can depend on my victory this year."

"That's right, son," Jonas's father chimed in and the young man smiled at him. He probably had his father to thank for the visit from the mayor; finally all of his years of serving as a personal assistant had served for more than a comfortable job.

"You will listen to your mentor, though, won't you?" his mother's voice was getting that tone it did when she thought Jonas wasn't listening.

"I will take Aeden 's advice into consideration," Jonas said choosing his words politically, lest his mother dash out of the room in frustration as she was prone to doing.

"And be nice to Bailey," she implored him.

"Mother, affiliating myself with a fusty nut with no kernel would be of minimal advantage to me."

"Don't use those big words on your mother. We don't have much time left," his father reprimanded him.

"Very well. I will deliberate on how I can collaborate to my advantage." His father sighed, but Jonas knew his mother understood what that meant. He would make her happy and allow her to think he'd consider having a twelve year old as a partner if it wasn't a hindrance.

There was a knock at the door.

"We love you, son," his parents said, almost in unison as they embraced him and released him just as quickly. They weren't a household that expressed affection physically, which was why the Mayor's hug had thrown him so off guard.

To Jonas's surprise, three boys game together next.

"The Peacekeeper said that we had to come in together. They were already getting the train ready," Cliff, Jonas's best friend, reported as he and Jonas's middle brother, Lawson high fived the Tribute.

"I suppose the three of you will be the last to see me for several weeks, then," Jonas said, leaning back in his chair and savoring the moment.

"If you manage to come back," Jonas heard his twelve year old brother's voice. Weston had clearly meant to say that under his breath, so Jonas let it go, simply rolling his eyes.

"I had a moment when I didn't think you were going to do it," Cliff admitted.

"Then you had a moment where you were relieved of your wits. I never turn down a challenge," Jonas reiterated his mantra from the days since Cliff had, in a moment of frustration, dared him to volunteer for the Hunger Games. "Anyone can win the Hunger Games with sufficient mental and physical training and discipline. Everyone who has ever lost has had a fatal flaw that was their downfall."

"It's going to be unbearable listening to you say that every day for your life as a Victor," Lawson moaned.

"Then I suggest you use the next weeks to prepare your ears for that very song, because it is imminent, my friends. Prepare for my magnificent return and to have your words served to you upon a silver platter." Jonas smiled broadly and made a grandiose flourishing gesture with his right hand. His friends knew that was his exit, he would want them to leave with that flair, not at the cue of some Peacekeeper, so they made their way to the door, with little Weston leading the way.

**Aeden Sanderling – District Seven Mentor**

One last breath of true fresh air was all Aeden wanted as the train whistled. He still hadn't boarded, his feet firmly planted on the soil of District Seven for one more moment. Procrastination was his momentary salvation.

"_Cree!" _The scream of the seagull sent a shiver down his spine. It was loud and close, but Aeden couldn't see it.

Whoosh. A huge gust of wind rushed past and it felt as though he could have taken flight. But it wasn't a gust of wind; it was the powerful gull flying just inches above his head, its abnormally strong wings beating the air about it. As swiftly as it had appeared, it perched on one of the trees not far from the tracks, a familiar willow tree. Aeden eyed the gull, unsure if this was something from a nightmare, the shape of things to come, or simply a monstrous trick of nature that didn't concern him.

The train whistled again and began to crawl away. Aeden stood, torn.

"Cree!" The gull insisted and a breeze danced with the willow branches. As though propelled by the zephyr against his will, Aeden found himself hoisting his body onto the departing train and disappearing into his quarters as though he had been there as he was supposed to have been the entire time. The nightmare resumed.

"_But if you would consider the true cause_

_. . . . _

_Why birds and beasts from quality and kind,_

_Why old men fool and children calculate,_

_Why all these things change from their ordinance_

_Their natures and preformèd faculties_

_To monstrous quality—why, you shall find_

_That heaven hath infused them with these spirits_

_To make them instruments of fear and warning_

_Unto some monstrous state." – Julius Caesar Act 1 Scene 3_


	9. Indifferent Dangers - District 8

Author's Note: I am breaking slightly from Cannon. I am including Woof as the victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games, however, I can't stand his name, so I'm deeming that, for purposes of this story, his full name is Wolfgang and Woof is a nickname.

Note #2, **kopycat101 **kindly pointed out there was an inconsistency in Freida's age. She is 16, not fourteen as was previously written in Mags' POV section. The error has been corrected. Thanks kopycat101 and sorry for the confusion.

Thank you to **upsettomcat **and **Deuce Ex Machina **for Margery and Loeric respectively.

And I don't own the Hunger Games World

**Indifferent Dangers District 8 Reaping. **

**Mentor: Cassius Shadi Victor of 9****th**** Hunger Games at Age 18 (current age 28)**

**Mentor: Wolfgang (Woof) Haberdasher Victor of 15****th**** Hunger Games at Age 16 (current age 18)**

**Escort: Hilarion Zelenka**

**GAME MAKER STATION, THE CAPITOL**

**Brutus Laertes – Head Game Maker**

As he finished the preview of the first seven Reapings Brutus sighed to himself.

"Something wrong, sir?" Brutus leapt nearly three feet when he heard Epucka's voice.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Epucka" the Head Gamemaker grouchily ordered. He wasn't accustomed to having such an intrusive personal assistant.

"I'm sorry, sir. I just didn't want you to be alone."

"Epucka, I need to be alone for the previews. You can't have any inside information. I'm the only one in the studio who is privy to this." The pink haired girl turned to obediently leave, but stopped at the doorway.

"Sir, it's Puck."

"I'm sorry?"

"I never go by Epucka; I go by Puck."

"I believe Epucka suits you better for the time being."

"Why?"

"You may ask me that once we've made it through the Reapings."

"But sir"

"Please leave me. I have a limited time in which to edit these," Brutus insisted, feeling time pressing in on him with every moment.

"Yes sir," the girl left and secured the door this time.

"ARRRGGGHH," Brutus released the frustrated sounds he'd been holding in through that entire conversation.

By his scale, the Reapings in Districts Four through Seven had ranged from mediocre to disastrous. In District Four at least the Tribute had been responsible. Ibrahima's joke would certainly rub some audience members the wrong way, but there would be others who would find it endearing. If nothing else it already gave them a sense of who this volunteer was, even if it left a bad taste in Brutus' mouth. He'd briefly considered cutting the end, but that sat even less well with him. He wanted his art to be authentic.

That was going to be problematic with Five, Six and Seven.

Okay, Brutus reassured himself, Seven hadn't been too terrible. Euripides had only said the number wrong. One couldn't really fault him for wanting to make everything easy and end in sevens. And Jonas had corrected him. There was really no way anyone would forget that this was the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games after that incident.

There was still the problem of Districts Five and Six. Alorea had clearly been absent-minded for most of the Reaping. Was she on drugs? He hadn't gotten the inside information on most of the mentors before-hand, but he could see from her performance that he would have to keep a much closer eye on them to ensure a splendid performance from them as well. Perhaps Excelcia could align them all.

His final kink was District Six's escort. Birmina had irreparably destroyed the momentum of the Reaping. He could have edited it, but with the deadline to air the Reaping it would be cutting it close.

It would just have to suffice, he thought as he settled in with the cameras fixed on District Eight to watch the beginning of their Reaping.

Everyone onstage at least had the appearance of wanting to be there. Hilarion had her routine down after years of practice, donning a wide, whitened smile that was imitated by thespians throughout the Capitol. Her accent drawled onward, not quite as he remembered it from the year before, but epic enough to perk up all ears, knowing she was speaking. She had uncontested control of the crowd. Brutus made a note to have her train Birmina later.

Wolfgang was beside her, his buzz cut hair making him look older than last year. His first year of mentoring had sobered the boy more than his Arena experience and now there seemed to be a look of resolve on his face. Brutus was excited to see what he would do with the Tributes this year.

As the anthem filled the screen, Brutus did a quick calculation. Someone was missing. District Eight had had a victor before Woof, as Brutus fondly called the eighteen year old mentor. Brutus scanned the stage, but the older mentor was nowhere to be found. Where was Cassius?

Brutus perused the crowd again, but the older mentor was nowhere to be seen. In a crowd of blondes and brunettes, Cassius's Capitol infused silver hair would have been conspicuous. Brutus settled in. For the moment, it didn't matter, he told himself. He would simply have to place more responsibility on Cassius later on to ensure that the Capitol citizens didn't forget about him. His eyes fixed on the screen as the music swelled and melded into Hilarion's voice.

The suspense was titillating as Hilarion used her theater skills to play the crowd. Her hand was spinning, somehow faster than even the cameras could detect as she grabbed the fatal name.

"For the lovely young ladies, Margery Kelta." There was no movement. Brutus strained his eyes to see if he could spot the Tribute before Hilarion did. "Young lady, come forward," Hilarion commanded. Slowly the fifteen year old section parted. They seemed to be distancing themselves from a thin girl in a pale blue blouse and faded black pants. She had a confused look on her face and was completely motionless. Not Brutus's ideal choice for District Eight, but perhaps there was more about her than met the eye.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" she asked, a hint of fear in her voice, as if part of her knew she was denying the inevitable. "They didn't call my name!" She must have heard, must have known. She was taking too long and two Peacekeepers began to close in on her.

"I heard wrong. It's not me! It's not me. I'm Margery Kelta!" She screamed as the Peacekeepers took her by the arms and brought her to the stage by force. She crossed her arms in protest, but stayed beside Woof on the stage.

Unfazed, Hilarion continued on to the boys. "For the young gentlemen, your representative will be . . ." her hand hovered for a moment over the names and then she swiftly grabbed it and opened it in one quick motion, an art she had perfected over the years "Leoric Hughs"

The name was almost poetic, Brutus thought, as a brown haired muscular boy strode forward from the seventeen year old section. In contrast to his district partner, he made his way to the stage of his own free will, a hardened look on his face. His hands were balled into fists, as though already prepared for a fight. The breath he released once he arrived at the stage seemed to Brutus to say "I'm going to make the best of this."

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, your Tributes for the _Eighteenth _Annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor." By the tone of Hilarion's voice when she said "eighteen" someone had told her about Euripides's error earlier. The camera panned out as Leoric held his hand out to firmly shake Margery's.

**Margery Kelta – 15 **

She had to remember that she'd had brushes with danger. That's what Margery told herself as her parents left the room.

"If the world isn't fair to you, don't be fair to it," her father's final words of advice burned in her brain as intensely as his gaze as he'd fixed his hands on her shoulders and left her by herself. This had been his motto her entire life, but it held more weight now than ever before. Believing in those words was the difference between life and death for her. She knew she needed to remember that.

The games weren't fair. It wasn't fair that she was going to be set up against 23 other tributes, most of them, like Leoric, older, stronger, and more privileged than she. It would be so easy to give in to despair and bemoan her chances.

But Margery would fight. From this moment on the only thing that mattered was returning to her parents, the only two people she cared for in the world. The only thing that mattered was ridding herself of those 23 other tributes with as much speed as possible.

Could she do it? Margery seemed sweet, but she didn't get attached. She knew she could do what needed to be done. Hadn't she done it before?

Margery shuttered a little, thinking back to the "accident" in the factory. She remembered how strong she had felt then, how it had felt to push pack the revulsion of her manager's gory death to the joy she felt at being free of his oppressive presence. She would find that rush again in the danger of the Games.

**Leoric Hughs – 17**

Leoric felt the burden lift from his shoulders as his parents left the room. They wore their disapproval as an irremovable cloak, despite their best efforts to disguise it.

They had expected an apology, a heartfelt reconciliation just before his one-way journey to the Arena. Leoric gave them no such satisfaction; he wasn't necessarily proud of his rebellious streak against them, of abandoning their expectations for him in pursuit of a more rewarding life of drugs, violence and alcohol, but he had been an overworked fifteen year old. He refused to apologize for the difficult lessons he had learned. Had he not been a rebellious teen, he never would have met the people who had most changed his life, those who were less fortunate than he.

In his parents' eyes, though, his choices had rendered him worthless. They had all but disowned him. Leoric had honestly been surprised when they walked through the door to bid him farewell.

He wasn't surprised, however, that no one else was coming. His so called friends were undoubtedly stoned or drunk; most wouldn't even realize he was gone or that he wasn't coming back after the Games.

He sighed. However this ended, he would make the best of it. He had found a place where he was indifferent to the danger he would face.

**Wolfgang Haberdasher Mentor**

Wolfgang was still on the stage as the crowds dispersed. It was unlike his mentor to leave him completely without a clue as to his whereabouts. Yes, Cassius had become a bit eccentric and less visible now that he had the younger mentor to assist him, but surely he wouldn't completely abandon them.

Wolfgang surveyed the crowd meticulously. There was a blonde haired girl who had been a year below him still lingering and a red haired boy scanning the ground for items that may have been dropped in the Reaping's chaos. The Peacekeepers began to escort them out, convinced they were up to no good.

Suddenly, Wolfgang's eyes fell on a cloaked figure making its way slowly to the stage through the clamor of departing people. It moved like a mist would, heedless of time or space, simply slipping where it needed to go. Sure enough, the figure came to the steps and Wolfgang could see its face.

"You could have made an appearance for the Reaping. I don't have enough experience to handle this alone."

"You have more than I did the first time I was by myself," Cassius protested, finally removing his hood as the last spectators dissipated. His silver hair would have given him away had his cloak been removed, it simply shimmered whether there was any light reflected off of it or not. "Besides, I was there."

"What? You left me alone on the stage – "

"I was in the corner, just beyond the last row of tributes." Cassius smiled. "I'll see you on the train."

"Are you going to keep disappearing?" Wolfgang demanded. His mentor simply turned his back and slunk out of sight. Wolfgang sighed as Cassius abandoned him, sauntering into the waning sun.

"_But I am armed, and dangers are to me indifferent." – Act 1 Scene 3_


	10. Weak Straws: District 9

**Author's Note: **I am beginning Nanowrimo, so please be patient as this story may get less attention for the time being. Alternatively, it might get more attention as a means of procrastination. Thank you to **Elim9 **and **kopycat101 **for Candice and Brody respectively.

I still don't own the Hunger Games.

**Weak Straws District Nine:**

**Mentors: **

**Haspereek Cloven – Victor of the 13****th**** Annual Hunger Games at 18 (current age 24)**

**Rolath Dornel – Victor of the 15****th**** Annual Hunger Games at age 18 (current age 22)**

Rolath stared out far beyond the lines of tributes at the wheat fields, wondering what he could do differently this year, how he could make himself care again. He sincerely had cared about the first tribute he had mentored two years ago. He'd only been a year behind him in school, though Rolath hadn't known him terribly well. Rolath hadn't known many people. He had preferred anonymity in school, to be just one stalk of wheat in an entire field of grain. All of that anonymity was robbed from him as a tribute and even more so now as a Victor. Now, even when he was alone he was accompanied, by cameras, by intrigue, constantly under surveillance. It would never change, he knew. His days of hiding in the fields, working for as long as he could, letting his sandy hair blend into the fields and sway with the stalks of wheat, were long gone.

Haspereek had hoped he would weather it as she had. They'd leaned on each other for support at times, yes, but they'd been very divided when not beside their Tributes in the arena. Perhaps she'd hoped that he would come to her, find solace in her arms, but that had never been where his strength lay. Rolath grew his energy from his garden, from living things, from the sculptures he designed and from the stalks of wheat he buried deep within the earth.

Haspereek stood beside him again, smiling as ever. The was an expert showwoman, putting on the face for the Capitol, for those she cared about. She had learned the hard way that to be anything less than this was accompanied by a penalty.

Rolath grimaced as the escort, he didn't even care what her name was, began her monologue. All he wanted was silence again, to have these weeks done with and come home, with a victor or not. He knew he had no right to be so indifferent, having only mentored two tributes himself, but maybe being a victor gave him a right to anything he wanted. Wasn't that what they were told, the bait that was held out for any fool who was dumb enough to volunteer? Riches, glamor, safety? Their names in lights, bonfires and celebrations lit for them?

"Now, the moment that we've awaited all year has finally come upon us. We will shortly meet our tributes for this, the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games. Who will have the honor of representing District Nine?"

"I'd like to pick the name," Haspereek interrupted the escort and Rolath cringed. What was she doing? How could she want to pick a name? Unless it was because of last year and what had happened with her cousin.

The escort hesitated. "My dear, Haspereek, I appreciate the sentiment, but I fear the rules of the Capitol make it imperative that it be me who picks the name. The process must pure, and fair beyond reproach." The irony of that statement was surely not lost on either Victor standing on the stage.

"Then let me read it," Haspereek said firmly, in the voice that had captivated the Capitol despite her dramatic past, despite her sorted habits. Rolath couldn't help but wonder if she'd had a couple too many this morning, if she'd started a new habit, or what she had done that could possibly have possessed her to make this request.

"Well, I suppose I can do that much, but only for the ladies" the escort conceded. She picked the fateful slip of paper and handed it to Haspereek.

"Candice Graham," Haspereek announced. Rolath had expected to hate hearing her voice utter the name of the condemned, but he actually found it softer. The change hadn't called the girl forward, though, in fact there was no movement in the crowd. He wished there were. This part just evoked emotions that could be avoided if the tribute would accept the inevitable.

Reluctantly, the thirteen year old section began to part. From the look on the short, thin girl's face reality hadn't struck her yet. She looked as though she were still expecting something else, perhaps she hadn't heard, or had thought she heard wrong. She still wasn't moving. Her eyes were looking anywhere but directly at the stage, focusing in the middle distance, perhaps assuring herself that this was all a dream.

Haspereek locked eyes with Rolath as the Peacekeepers began to move in on her. Suddenly the girl sprinted off, running as though her life depended upon it. The Peacekeepers bolted after her. She made it all the way back past the eighteen year old section before they caught her, but catch her they did. One of them picked up her slender body with great ease and tossed her over his shoulder with no more tenderness than he would have tossed a sack of potatoes. She was kicking at him, her brown dress flailing in desperation as the sobs began to come. The Peacekeeper made the tedious return to the stage and placed the girl, trembling like a lonely stalk of wheat in a tempest, directly in front of Rolath. Perhaps they were counting on the fact that he would calm her, or minimally be able to catch her should she run again. For a moment it looked as though she might. Haspereek motioned for him to put his hand on the girl's shoulder to secure her, but he didn't. For these few brief moments until her district partner was decided, the girl would be on her own, as weak and helpless as she appeared.

"Would you care to announce for the gentlemen?" the escort asked Rolath, but he shook his head "no." She smiled, glad that everything was once again as it should be. She seemed to need her moments in the spotlight.

"For the young gentlemen, Brody Punter." There was some murmuring from the crowd as a boy donning a skull cap hat strode forward from the fifteen year old section. As he moved forward, a smirk spread across his face and he began to wave, as though he had pinpointed exactly where the cameras were and was playing to every single one of them. He reached the stage in what seemed to Rolath to be record time, before the Peacekeepers even had a thought of escorting him. The little girl began to tremble even more when she saw her district partner didn't seem to be afraid. In fact, as Rolath looked over at him, Brody was leaning into the mike, taking it from the escort.

"District Nine, I'd like to thank you. I'll be seeing you soon because this bro will definitely be the victor of these Hunger Games, so bring it, Panem!" He shouted so loudly the microphone buzzed with feedback, a problem that the Capitol had fixed years ago. The escort smirked. It had been a while since they had seen such energy from a District Nine tribute. Brody smiled even more broadly as he shook Candice's hand.

"District Nine your two Tributes for the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games," Haspereek announced, the escort giving her a glare that could have curdled milk.

**Candice Graham – 13**

She still felt weak. She was still trembling as her family game to say goodbye to her. Her mother wrapped a shawl around her, knowing this would comfort her, even if only for a moment. The warmth of the black fabric, familiar against her skin, and her mother's embrace, brought her mind and body to a more still, more focused place.

"You'll need to stay focused in the Games," her mother said, keeping a hand on Ary so she didn't wander off and miss saying goodbye to her sister.

"Where's Nestor?" Candice asked. Her mother forced back an exasperated sigh. Of course Candice wouldn't have heard a word she said. Going to a fight to the death clearly wasn't going to miraculously imbibe Candice with the attention span of anything longer than a squirrel.

"He went to find Tamika so she could say goodbye," her father said. He looked intently at his oldest daughter, measuring his words carefully. "Remember to choose your allies wisely. Do not draw attention to yourself."

"Yes, daddy," Candice said. She was listening, even as she was imagining what lay ahead, days of training with unfamiliar weapons, unfamiliar people, and then the arena, blood, terror. What could she do to escape it all?

"Candice," she heard her brother's voice as Nestor came into the room. "I'm so sorry. Tamika's mother wouldn't let her come. She said it would be too . . . nevermind." He paused, weighing his words wisely. Nestor was used to caring for his sister, not bonding with her and certainly not advising her on what could be her last days. "Is there anything you'd like me to pass on to her."

"Tell her thank you, I guess," Candice ventured.

"Candice, tell me a story," Ary begged, grabbing Candice's hand. She didn't understand. She was only three. How would her family explain it to her when her older sister didn't return from this awful voyage?

"Not this time, Ary. There isn't time," their mother said, saving the day. "Now Candice, remember you'll have to focus."

"I'll start a story for you, Ary. Once upon a time there was an older sister who loved her little sister very much. Then one day she had to go away, but she wanted her to know that she still loved her, no matter what happened, no matter what horrible things she saw on the screen or heard about her." Candice knew it was the worst story she would ever tell, but in that instant she didn't have much of a choice; it was the story that was being written for her. The Peacekeepers opened the door cautiously, certainly convinced that Candice would make a run for it again. Her mother grabbed Ary by the hand and they were gone, disappearing into the words of another story. All they had left behind was one of Ary's ribbons. Candice held it close, as though by clutching onto that she would somehow be able to hold onto them.

**Brody Punter – 15**

How could this have happened, Brody thought. He'd never taken tesserae, he'd always been secure, rarely wanting for anything. He hadn't realized how lucky he had been until this very moment in this cell of a room.

"Brovick!" He immediately brightened as Jovick Rothers stepped into the room and he was once again his jovial, fearless self. "Did you see that? All of Panem already loves me."

"They sure do, bro," Jovick said, but he was hesitant.

"I'm coming back, bro. I've already got a plan. I'm going to make a Brolliance and bro the bromance out of Panem. All the bros in the Capitol will be lining up to sponsor this Bromaster and before I know it I'll be right back here."

"You're right. You've got nothing to worry about," Jovick asserted. "Just don't do anything stupid, bro. Don't get yourself killed. Remember this isn't a game."

"Bro, you sound like my mother. This is the Hunger Games, of course it's a game. It's in the title." Jovick sighed.

"I'll catch you later, man" he said, slapping Brody on the back and making a quick exit before his patience ran out with his best friend.

His family trailed in after Jovick left, his mom, dad, and little bro.

"Brody, are you really going to win the Hunger Games?" Danny asked. His eyes were wide with excitement and admiration. "Are you really going to come back on a train and live in the victor's village with Rolath and Haspereek?" Being the son of the district gossip had its perks, Brody thought. He'd already be bros with one of his mentors and, well, Haspereek wasn't bad looking, even if she was a bit older.

"You can bet on it, little bro," Brody said, ruffling up Danny's hair. The ten year old smiled broadly. He could only imagine his little brother cheering him on here in the District as he went through the Games, as he climbed his way to victory one tribute at a time. "Cheer loudly okay. I'll take out the weak ones first and then, towards the end, you'll see. My broliance and I will bring down everyone else and I'll come out on top." Danny's joyous giggle was so contagious his parents couldn't help but smile even though they wanted to do anything else.

"I'll see you soon," Brody promised, high fiving all three of his family members as they left the room. He smirked smugly. He would see them all soon, just as soon as he won the Hunger Games.

**Haspereek Cloven – Mentor D 9**

"They're both weak," Haspereek stated worriedly. "Which one do you want?" That was the point of the matter. She could tell instantly that their tributes probably weren't going to make a good team, just like they hadn't the past couple years. They both had major character flaws, either terror or arrogance, both sides of the same coin of weakness and, after several years of mentoring and watching the games with the keen eye of a Victor pruning her tributes, Haspereek couldn't foresee either of them lasting terribly long.

"I'll take the girl," Rolath said. There was no surprise there. It seemed like the two of them would get along, quiet, recluse, and reserved.

"So be it," Haspereek said. "May the odds be in our favor," she quoted the Hunger Games theme as she took his arm and they left the stage together, as they had for the last couple years. United, but weak.

"_Those that with haste will make a mighty fire_

_Begin it with weak straws."_


	11. Cut Off: District Ten

**Disclaimer: Hunger Games is still not mine. I have absolutely no share in it or the wonderful movie coming out this week (Whoot)**

**Thank you **to **KhloeGrace **and **copykat101 **for **Kobie **and **Nina **respectively.

Friendly reminder: Keep an eye out for alliances.

Finally, my apologies on the delay. I'm still making progress on my novel for nanowrimo. I just broke 40,000 words, but storywise have a lot more than needs to get out of my head and onto the computer, so I doubt I'll be stopping at 50,000. However, I've got a second goal to make it through the Reapings by the end of November (after which time I'm taking on another project, but will try to update regularly). If I'm being too obnoxious with timing, yell at me and I'll write faster (I deserve it for the amount of times I've yelled at my favorite authors to write faster). That said . . . without further ado, District 10.

Also, I'll try to get the blog updated. I was waiting on a picture for one of the tributes, but I'll just have to improvise & get caught up.

**District 10: Cut off**

**Mentor: Steric Tarthan – Victor of the 14****th**** Annual Hunger Games at age 18 current age 23**

**Escort: Trinidad Drante **

**Steric Tarthan District 10 Mentor:**

Sweat drenched her face as she reached the door at last and in a dash glanced at the clock. She still had five minutes, Steric thought, disappearing into her bathroom in a flash. No sooner was she out of her clothes with the water on to shower after her last minute run but a knock came on the door.

"Steric Tarthan you are going to be late!" The voice was either her mother's or Trinidad. At the moment Steric neither knew nor cared. Get out, get over, move on, the rhythm propelled her into the shower just as it propelled her through everyday life, or at least those days that required her sobriety. She was on her A-game today, she had ensured that. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as it did every Reaping day since her own.

She never stopped. One minute and she was out of the shower and another 30 seconds had her fully dressed. She never stopped, because if she stopped she felt cut off, cut off from the person she was before the reaping three years ago, from her rebellious district partner who had been her first kill of the games, even more cut off from the others who had fallen who she had barely known, and the girl from One who had been her ally almost to the end. Cut off from everything and everyone.

"You're going to be – " her mother started as the bathroom door swung open in her face.

"You know I always make it there on time," Steric said, already halfway out her door, moving at a pace too fast for her aging mother to catch her. Maybe this year they would give her someone who would actually do as she said. You would think with her credentials, not only as a victor, but as the victor of the shortest hunger games there would be people volunteering. Despite being district ten, surely someone would be willing to volunteer as she had, to take the place of someone who stood less of a chance. There had been one volunteer before her, but that was it. As such the last three years she had gotten two boys who blatantly ignored her advice, one who had put up a decent fight, two girls who never should have been there, and one who had at least allied with the winner. That was her curse too. Perhaps the reason no one volunteered was because of her secret, her intuition, which hadn't seemed to benefit any of her tributes except for the last girl, Palin.

She was onstage, standing through the most difficult part of the games, the part where there was nothing to be done. She wished she could just run in circles round the crowd as the anthem played, but instead she fiddled with her rubix cube. Her mother insisted she looked as intelligent as she was when she played with it, but Steric truly thought it was just another prop.

At long last Trinidad prepared to call the girl's name. Steric scanned the crowd, perhaps looking at the next victor.

"Nina Quivers," Trinidad called out. It sounded as though even the escort was skeptical of her ferocity given her name, but no one can chose their last name, Steric justified.

A mixture of screaming and crying from the fourteen year old section immediately disproved that theory. The younger girls all immediately backed away from the disaster unveiling before them. A light haired girl in a green sundress was revealed to be the cause of all the racked. Even while hyperventilating, she still managed to scream as her body was racked with sobs. Her legs trembled so terribly Steric could see it from the stage. Then they simply couldn't hold her anymore and she collapsed to the ground, no one near enough to catch her.

Steric snapped for the Peacekeepers to go to her, but they weren't moving fast enough. They recognized this girl, the could tell by their hesitancy. They weren't doing her any favors. As quick as a flash Steric was down from the stage and into the fourteen year old section. She picked up the girl, still screaming, her body still quivering, expecting her to kick at her, resist her, show she was ready to fight to at least stay right where she was, but Steric collected her into her arms easily. As she turned back towards the stage, no doubt bringing this girl to her death, Steric scanned the girls' section one last time, hoping for a volunteer.

"Wait," one of the twelve year olds whispered shyly. Was this District ten's third volunteer? Steric looked anxiously at the dark haired twig who had spoken. "Take good care of her," she whispered, comfortably taking her place back in line. Steric looked in desperation back at the eighteen year olds, hoping against hope, but no one moved. No one cared. They were back on the stage, one more death that Steric would have to ensure was as quick as possible.

"For the boys, Mobie Kalp," Trinidad announced, as eager to move on as Steric was.

The parallel section to the one from which Nina had just come parted, but thankfully there was no hysterical screaming from the boy who hesitantly stepped forward. His first step brought confusion; Steric could see it in his face, as though he hadn't recognized his own name. He dragged his feet awkwardly through the dirt as he made his way to the stage. He fiddled with his pockets, just as Steric realized she was fiddling with her long hair, her rubix cube gone missing in the scuttle of tribute retrieval.

"Get up, Nina," Mobie instructed, still looking out at the audience. It was impossible to ignore the sobbing bundle at their feet, the tribute who couldn't even stand. Mobie made no move to help her, trying to force the energy to smile out at the crowd. Turning to see Nina still on the stage floor, Trinidad made a helpless gesture for Steric to pick her up and plop her on her feet. Steric crossed her arms in blatant refusal. The escort came to her side and held Nina up in one hand, the microphone in the other.

"Shake hands, district ten tributes," she instructed, praying they would be able to do this with some sort of expediency. No sooner had they done so then Steric picked up Nina, promptly ridding herself of her to the depths of her room.

"Maybe seeing her family will calm her down?" Trinidad suggested, hopeful that she would at least try to save face.

"Nope," Steric stated. "She's a goner."

"Just because you have accurately predicted . . ."

"Don't jinx it," Steric ordered and hastily left the stage.

**Mobie Kalp: 14**

"What are we going to do without him?" he'd heard his mother whisper as she entered the room with his father. After years and years of caring for him, years of him being her world, his mother wouldn't know what to do without him. She couldn't imagine him leaving for a day, much less weeks, much less forever should he not be the victor.

Mobie sighed, not sure she should even be there. Yes, he wanted to say goodbye to her, but seeing him like this could just make her depression worse. Between working as hard as she did to give him a happy life and spoiling him rotten, his mother had neglected her own mental health. It was only now, when there was nothing he could do but keep up his cheery disposition, that he really noticed this.

He hugged his mother, rubbing her back like she did for him every night before bed. He would miss her comforting touch while he was in the arena.

He wrapped his arms around his father. Everyone said Mobie was his spitting image and that he'd have his father's good looks when he grew older. Now he might not get the chance.

No one was crying. Somehow it looked as though they would make it through. Then his mother's lip began to quiver as she knew time must be running out.

"You two should go," Mobie told his parents, swallowing his pride, trying to be brave. His mother nodded, and leaned into his ear to whisper something.

"Don't trust Steric," she whispered so low Mobie was the only one who could hear her. "She doesn't have a soul." This advice was nothing new to Mobie. His mother had been claiming this ever since Steric's games and there were those who had said it before, ever since her intuition had proven correct so many times.

His father was less discrete. As his mother strode out of the room, leaning on the wall for support, he rested his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Listen to Steric," he instructed. "She might just keep you alive." And with that they were gone and he was alone, cut off from all who loved him.

**Nina Quivers: 14**

Matthan stroked over Nina's hair, trying to calm her. Her parents had already been in and tried to soothe her, but the three minutes that she'd spent with them had made her worse in the end, not better. She lay in the corner, curled up in the fetal position, trembling so hard Matthan feared she would collide with the wall and do herself in right there. His hand rested on her head, hoping to calm her in the little time left. He could do that much.

"Tell me how you feel, Nina." It sounded like a ridiculous question. How would someone scared of literally everything feel about going to a fight to the death? No doubt her head was ready to explode.

As he suspected, the girl couldn't get a word out, but at least she was no longer screaming. They had so little time.

He adjusted the headband that had been holding her hair in place. What now seemed like a lifetime ago, he had walked over to her house bright and early on the morning of her last birthday just to see her face, just to make sure that her day started off well.

The knock at the door startled both of them, but Nina started crying again.

"Be brave," Matthan demanded, his voice stern and for just a moment until the doors cut them off from each other she was quiet, she was calm. Then all erupted into chaos and screams and tears again, the terror too much for her to handle.

**Steric Tarthan**

She was already prepared and on board the train. She only had to wait a little longer and then all things would be in motion again. It was the rhythm, she thought as she gazed at the bottle of rum. That wasn't for now, though. She was saving it for the return journey, the return journey she would certainly take alone.

She gazed in the mirror, her shoulder length blonde hair flowing. It had grown quickly from last year. It seemed almost a shame to do this.

But she did. In one swift blow her knife split her hair, transforming it from long and flowing to chopped as short as her young male tribute's. She preferred it this way for the games. It made everything quicker, more merciful, and hopefully somewhere along the line, more just. And just like that the train mercifully pulled out from District 10.

"_He that cuts off twenty years of life  
>Cuts off so many years of fearing death" <em>


End file.
